All Eyes On Me
by ibgarry
Summary: Garry worked at a cabaret for years with the same people. He wasn't entirely used to meeting new employees, but he was willing to get used to Ib. A cabaret/strip club AU fic. Rated M for language and eventual smut (IbGarry).
1. Encounter

_A/N: I have no idea how this happened. I never thought I would do so much research on strip clubs.__I've never been to a strip club in my life._

_This is the spawn of what I believe was a heated discussion I had about Ib AU's on my Tumblr. I think I've been working on this for five months. It's not done, either. I think I'm going to shit a brick. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Rosie's Cabaret at the edge of town isn't as shabby as most, although its name would suggest so. It had been around for ages, and Garry had never seen the building as anything but a club. Before he began work there, the building was nothing less than terrifying to him until he found that its staff were all friendly. Each performer was close with the other; they were practically family. Garry was lucky enough to work with a staff body that treated him well. Because of this, he'd never felt a need to leave Rosie's.

He had since grown used to his forced facade of constant enjoyment that he had learned to hold for as long as he worked. It was never too hard to pull off, at least for him. He was never really alone on stage when he announced, either. For the most part, he had people cheering after everything he said (although, it wasn't always for him.) He and his co-announcer had a sort of brotherly bond, as well, of which he was incredibly greatful for.

Then there was Mary, the owner's daughter, who was a performer herself. She had an array of fans and regulars who Garry had seen frequently. They came just for her, usually, and Mary went out to say hello to her fans whenever they showed up. The other dancers had these as well, but not nearly as many as Mary, nor did they have the time to greet fans face-to-face unless it was for haggling. Frankly, Mary was very loud and very bossy, so Garry had casually avoided her. He couldn't avoid her when she approached him or ran into him in the back alley out of the fear of being fired, but she was bearable for at least a minute or so.

Because the dancers were all so tight-knit in their relationships, newbies were a sort of treat for them, especially since a dry season of good news was a constant. Because everyone was already comfortable with each other, the manager didn't like to hire new performers; fitting them into routine was hard enough. Garry had seen enough people come and go in the time he had worked at Rosie's, so it was really nothing new to him; he'd learned how to adapt to changes in schedule. It was more or less his job, after all.

The manager called an impromptu meeting to be held fifteen minutes before the night began. There, he announced a new girl, nineteen years old. She would be one of the youngest performers in the cabaret. She had applied there, which was pretty audacious for someone so young considering Rosie's was never really hiring, nor was the boss open to accepting applications. In order to have a chance to apply, you had to perform well over a long period of time, so word of God meant she was incredible. Despite his strict standards, the manager was excited at the news he'd delivered, seeming quite positive about his decision. Mary cheered her father on, more excited about his announcement than the new girl she would soon meet.

It was a good night for Rosie's. After the long night of performances came to a close and Garry retreated to the narrow back hall, Mary was already quick on her feet with a circle of performers who had long been off the stage, sharing gossip that the new girl would be arriving the following night. In a way, she was already a celebrity, though none of them had seen her perform. They were ecstatic. Some of the performers planned on arriving early the following night. It was Garry's job to be there before anyone else, so he had no reason to fret.

* * *

The girl was there, like everyone had guessed, early in the evening, speaking to the manager at a table in the audience. The manager was impossibly loud—he had a better announcing voice than Garry. The new girl was small in her chair, and she was making a distressing effort to listen to what her new boss was trying to say. Garry tried to ignore them.

His podium was in the far corner of the stage, a couple papers sitting against the ledge. He could tell from across the room that they were all schedules. He knew they were for him; he shuffled across the stage, trying not to catch the eye of the manager.

As he made his way across the stage, he heard the painful call of his name. Garry had no choice but to redirect his attention.

Meeting this girl wasn't an annoyance as much as it stressed him out to be talking to someone he wasn't familiar with; small talk was never his specialty. He hopped gracefully off the stage, stepping to the table. The manager stood up and gestured to the girl. Garry straightened his tie.

"Garry, this is Ib, our new performer." Ib stood up and stretched out her hand to him.

"An honor to meet you." Garry stooped to kiss her hand; when he stood, he could tell such a greeting was not something she was used to. She didn't wipe her hand off, although she seemed to be itching to do so, and he was somewhat embarrassed, wondering if it had been a good idea to greet her that way.

"Garry, if it's not too much trouble, could you help her around? Just for tonight." Garry was not compelled to ask what sort of work his boss was referencing. The manager stepped away quickly and made his way to the front door, leaving Ib in Garry's company.

She brushed off her skirt when the silence hung heavy over the two of them. Garry analyzed her; she was shorter than most, but still thin. Her face was round and rosy, but her eyes weren't as kind- a deep, mesmerizing red. Her eyeliner was enough to intimidate him.

Garry offered a hand. "Shall we?"

She nodded and took it, stepping around the table. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor. "Sorry for the trouble."

"No, not a problem," He assured her. "Ib, is it?"

"Yeah." Garry realized she was avoiding eye contact with him; her eyes darted around the room, watching everything but him.

He signaled slowly for her to follow, and in a flash she was right on his heels. "Did the boss say anything about your dressing room?" He asked.

"He said I shared my room with Mary." She spoke as if Mary's name was a joke of its own. Garry cringed.

"Alright, I'll walk you there. It's not far." Ib walked alongside him.

The click of her heels was all that filled the silence. She dressed really well, despite the fact that she would be changing out of her nice clothes in an hour's time. She would probably stop dressing so well over the course of a few weeks, Garry thought.

Ib needed no signal to follow Garry as he opened the door to the back hall. The hall was mostly vacant, but he could hear the distant voices of other girls somewhere in the building. The second door to the right was Mary's. Each door was always unlocked. He pushed open the door, and Ib ducked under his arm as he held the door open for her. As Garry peered in, he was grateful to find Mary had not yet arrived for the night. She was often "fashionably late".

Garry hesitated in the doorway, not entirely sure if staying to help was necessary. There was a third rack of clothes in the room in the far corner, many of them an iconic dazzling red, and Garry knew immediately that it belonged to Ib. Carrie's wardrobe was at the front of the room, a selection of pearly blues and pastel pinks.

He had helped every performer in the staff body get ready at least three times over, Mary and Carrie included, so he was very familiar with the wardrobes of most dancers and the dancers themselves. Stripping down around other people was only something new to Ib, so he felt that offering to help was pushing a social boundary Ib had yet to adjust to.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help, alright?" He told her. "The ladies would all be glad to help you out."

She smiled warmly with a nod, turning to the vanity. She popped the latch to a black makeup kit, and it swung open.

"Will you be alright without me here?" He shifted his weight.

"I think so, yeah."

"Alright. If you need me, send Mary for me. I'll come running."

She was too new to be left alone, but she looked so comfortable and pleased, just sitting in front of her vanity. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of leaving her there, but he knew she was waiting for him to leave. He closed the door behind him and strode down the hall, remembering suddenly the papers he'd left on the stage.

* * *

According to the papers, his co-announcer would be on when Ib was; however, her name was written "Eve" on the schedule. There was no clear effort put into making the schedule besides time frames, worsened by the decision made by his boss of Ib being on stage while Garry would be changing. Both Ib and Garry's coworker were both relatively new, one more so than the other; he hoped they could coordinate if anything went wrong.

Garry's co-announcer was a good guy, but he was relatively new, which translated to cluelessness. He had a bout of stage fright, as well. Garry was nothing less than anxious, but he wasn't going to start an argument with the manager over shifts. He trusted his partner enough.

He ran by Mary and Ib's room, rapping against the door. "You alright in there?" He called. He heard Mary's voice in reply: "Go away!" followed by some scuffling. He hadn't quite expected Mary to arrive so soon, especially not while he had been away. He heard Carrie inside as well, speaking quietly at first. He caught "No, it's fine..." before she yelled, "Garry, come on in!"

Ib protested, and her speech was entirely unclear to him.

"Do I want to come in?" He countered, knowing Ib was probably changing and Carrie was trying to break her in.

"Oh, don't fret. He's seen it all before," Carrie scoffed, as if Garry couldn't hear her. Ib protested again.

Someone inside opened the door for him. He turned away instantly, respecting her unspoken desire to be left alone with those of the same gender, but someone pulled him inside.

Garry didn't turn to face the room. Carrie stepped forward and closed the door. Garry reached for the door handle to make a quick exit, but Carrie swatted his hand away, scowling. She was already fully-costumed, but she couldn't have been at work for longer than ten minutes. She was good at that.

She stepped forward. "C'mon, help us out."

"She doesn't want me in here, Carrie," Garry hissed under his breath, leaning forward.

Carrie glanced over his shoulder. "Ib, do you want Garry's help? See, she said yes."

"I didn't say anything."

"Carrie."

Garry stepped forward, and she stopped him again. They eyed each other for a moment.

Carrie rolled her eyes. "You'd think the girl would be used to being naked in front of other people." The door snapped open.

"Give it some time, alright? Go easy on her, at least..."

Carrie shut the door gently. Garry stood outside for a moment, hesitating before stepping away. Inside, Garry could still hear Carrie's voice, encouraging Ib to change.

Although it was truly uncommon for most of the performers to be uncomfortable with being naked in the presence of other people, she would get used to it like everyone else did. Maybe not as quickly. He felt bad, though; if she really was so nervous about her costume, he didn't know how she was going to handle dancing around in it unless he had been right about her finding confidence in performing.

* * *

Garry checked the schedule once more to reassure himself that Ib was second-to-last to perform before he switched out with his co-announcer. The schedule had been written in rows and columns, and he had jumbled a few; she was actually last to perform before he closed. Hopefully, then, he would catch her before he went on for the rest of the night. There was always a chance.

He returned to the back rooms to find everything a bit busier, some of the doors held ajar while the loud voices from other rooms carried out into the hall. Mary's door was open, enough for Garry to walk through. Carrie was sitting in a fold-out chair, texting with a broken prop and hot glue gun in her lap, as if she had been trying to bring herself to make progress on prop repair but was distracting herself with her phone. Garry stood outside the door, leaning against the wall with a hand on one hip. He could see Carrie easily from the hallway; she had her chair pushed up against the section of open wall near her dressing room door.

"How's the repair work?" Garry asked, and Carrie looked up, laughing dryly.

"Mary gave me this thing to fix. She ran off to introduce Ib to everyone."

Garry was a little bitter, realizing Ib hadn't wanted him around, but he brushed it off; he already had his chance to meet her. "It shouldn't take longer than a minute. Repairing the prop, I mean. You might as well just get it done."

"Well, y'know..." She waved her phone, and he knew she didn't plan on repairing the prop anytime soon. "Wanna come sit with me?" She patted the seat of the chair next to her.

"I still need to change."

"Oh, right, forgot about that. You're so classy I often forget you have to wear a costume in the first place." She clicked her tongue and winked.

He chuckled, confirming he was aware of her humor. "Yeah, whatever. Fix your prop."

The door adjacent opened, releasing the conversations from inside the room into the open hall. He turned his attention to the door as Carrie continued texting whoever in God's name would actually text her. Mary stepped out of the opposite dressing room with Ib in tow, parting conversation with the girls inside. Ib froze when she saw him, her makeup already done and her costume mostly on. He could tell her costume wasn't completely finished; she was wearing a different blouse, covered in stray powders. Her makeup was clean and precise, and he wondered for a moment if she had done it herself.

She was nervous. He offered a greeting. She held her hands close to her chest and nodded, smiling feebly. At that moment, he realized that she probably hadn't wanted him to see her that way a second time around. It was an unavoidable truth, but she wasn't on the same level.

Mary turned, saw him, and ignored his presence, dragging Ib along behind her. Ib stumbled forward as Mary pushed open the door to the dressing room she shared with Ib, pulling Ib in with her. Carrie watched them both. The door slammed shut behind him, and Garry moved along.


	2. Night One

_A/N: originally, this chapter was a part of the first, but I had to split them because it made the chapters too long for my liking. sighhhh_

_edit: updating during school is never a good idea whoops_

* * *

After his first announcing shift ended, Garry retreated to the back hall to change, while his co-announcer took over his job for the next hour and a half. The back corridor was crowded already, with some of the performers speaking with each other. Some sat, but they were all ready to perform. Only a few carried props.

Garry danced around them, and a few greeted him and waved. From the front of the hall, he saw Mary's door had been propped open. A group of girls stood around the door; Garry maneuvered around them.

Carrie had been changing into something different, fixing her hair while she reclined in a chair. She had two different routines with two alter egos, both equally as gorgeous. She had a plain face, something he'd overheard her say (but not necessarily agreed with), but she looked completely different with her hair done how she liked it. She'd pulled her hair up into a wig and was pinning it down; she was great at hiding her hair and securing everything over it. She had three caps laying around on her vanity counter.

Garry knocked on the open door, bringing himself to the girls' attention. "I'm off for the next hour. Need anything?"

"Water would be great," Carrie requested. The other two girls didn't pay him any mind. "One for each of us, maybe. I'm back on in ten."

"You did great tonight." He paused. "Where is Ib, by the way?"

Carrie stuck her thumb to the curtain against the wall. The tail of the curtain stuck out, and he realized the awkward fold at the end of the curtain was actually Ib, hiding underneath. Mary was sitting on the floor next to her, close enough to see part of her. She was rubbing Ib's arm gently, a poor attempt to soothe her. They had probably been talking earlier, and he wondered what on earth could have dragged her behind the curtain.

He mouthed "she okay?" to Carrie.

"She's a little nervous."

"I'll go get you guys some water."

He ran off to the water cooler and started to fill a couple paper cups. A girl came out of her room, having just finished changing, and offered to help him. He filled up four paper cups, one for himself, and gave the girl two to carry back for him. She trailed close behind.

Garry returned to the room to find nothing had moved. The girl stepped past him and handed a cup to Carrie; Garry realized she had returned to her folding chair after her performance. He walked across the room, but the girl moved faster than him. Mary took the last cup from her. Mary addressed her as "Lady" when she thanked her. Garry thanked her personally for her help, addressing her directly, and she seemed pleased he had somehow remembered.

Garry kneeled down next to Mary, who was leaning up against the wall beside Ib. Garry mouthed, "Is she alright?", but Mary shook her head, miming Ib's nervousness. Garry set his cup down next to him and sat down beside Ib, who had the curtain pulled around her.

"Here, sweetheart." He put the cup of water down next to her. Ib looked at it briefly. "Nervous?"

She nodded promptly, picking up the cup to take a sip. Her hand shook.

Garry took a drink from his own. "You'll blow them away, so don't worry about it. The audience doesn't expect much out of the newbies." He made an attempt to pat her shoulder around the curtain. With one hand still wrapped around the curtain to cover her legs, Ib mimicked him. He rested his head against hers, giving her a tight squeeze.

She took a long drink and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, careful not to mess up her makeup. "I'll get used to it. It's just stage fright."

"You'll get used to it," He reassured her. The curtain fell back off her shoulders. Garry watched her smile as they stood up; he assisted her in standing. She took his hand gratefully, pulling herself up with him.

When she stood, Garry had a full view of her costume. Her outfit wasn't as much fabric as it was beads, but it was bright red. The beads looked to be synthetic glass. Probably plastic. She wasn't wearing a wig, instead modeling clean-cut bangs and straight brown hair, how she usually wore it. It was ironed and sprayed; an hour prior, it would have been a mess in comparison. Her lipstick and eye shadow matched her outfit, both bright glittering red. The red suited her, especially with her dark hair, but the makeup was probably too much. Garry knew she hadn't chosen it. She had pasties on, and he could see how they would be necessary to some extent; the beads weren't much of a cover. Somehow, it was a cute ensemble. At least the outfit was nice. No one would particularly care about her outfit when she performed.

"She looks great, doesn't she?" Carrie said.

"She does," Garry agreed. Ib turned red past her makeup, her bangs brushing against her eyelids.

Mary stood up suddenly, and the quiet noise brought her to Garry's attention. "I'm going to go say hi to the boys before I go back on to finish for the night." She walked to the vanity mirror, checked herself out, brushed off her miniskirt, and strode to the door. "I'll be on the floor if you need me."

She was out in an instant, and the moment the door was closed, Carrie started giggling. "You hurt her feelings when you don't give her the attention she wants." She shook her head.

"I don't think it's my attention that she wants." He looked to the door and back. There was a lapse in conversation. "You missed a button on your top, Carrie."

"No way, really?" She looked down to her chest. One of the four buttons on her tube top had popped and come undone. "Oh, you weren't kidding." She buttoned it up. "Thanks. I'm on in ten, so I'll line up in the hall. Maybe make some new friends." She laughed. Garry shook his head.

Carrie stood up and looked over her outfit in the mirror. Garry watched. Ib fiddled with some beads on her skirt; every time she swished her hips, they jingled, and she seemed to occupy herself with doing so for a moment. "Ib, will you be alright in here with Garry?" She asked, focused on finding any flaws in her hair or costume. She fluffed up her pastel blue, curled wig.

Ib looked up. "I should be fine."

"Alright, wait for me after the show's over." She stuck a bow in her hair and patted it down. "I'm off!"

"Have fun," Garry called after her, and the door slammed shut.

He realized then that he had no idea what to say, and he had made a dire mistake in not keeping someone else in the room with the two of them.

Ib was first to break the silence. "I don't have to go on for another forty-five minutes, I think…" She lifted her hair away from her face to check her outfit in the vanity mirror. When she was satisfied, she let her hair fall over her shoulders. "I'm really nervous."

"Don't be." Garry made his way towards the center of the room. He pulled a stool from the wall and sat facing Ib. "You've performed for the manager, haven't you?"

She turned to him, dropping her hair. "I had to perform to apply here."

"Everyone has to. You can't get in here without being one of the best." He paused. "Do you have stage fright?"

"Yeah." Her outfit rattled as she walked towards Garry. She pulled up another stool and sat on the edge of the seat. "Don't you need to change?"

He shook my head. "Not for another half-hour."

She nodded and seemed to understand.

"I can leave now and get dressed, and maybe I'll catch you before you go on."

She crossed her legs and thought it over.

"You can go talk to the girls in the hallway. Carrie's probably still out there."

She smiled to herself. Garry realized he probably sounded like he was trying to give excuses to get himself out of the situation he was in. "Yeah, that's a better idea." Ib stood up from the chair, balancing herself in her blood-red stilettos. She headed for the door, making a passing glance at the mirror. "I'll see you in a few, then?"

"Alright."

* * *

As much as Garry had tried to stick to his word and slip into a nice costume as quickly as possible, he found himself excessively occupied by his necktie and a button that had fallen off of his long-sleeved collared shirt. After spending a few minutes sewing it back on, he finally found himself leaving.

When he returned to the hall, Ib wasn't anywhere in sight. He caught up with Carrie, who had just come back from performing and who he found in a circle of girls, including Lady. She was sweating, but her makeup was perfectly sealed over her face. Lady was waiting with a hankie, and Carrie took it and dabbed her face generously, thanking her; Lady's painted lips curved into a smile.

As Garry approached, Carrie knew what he wanted to know, so she told him: "Ib's already up!"

"Shit, you're kidding."

"Where were you?" Carrie was bouncing with excitement.

"Changing!"

"Go around the back or something!"

He ran to the back hall, where the rear entrance to the bar was at the far end. The door was always unlocked, and past it Garry could her the music and applause. He opened the door and ran into the dark.

To his right stood the few bartenders, all on duty; the closest to him gave him a passing glance. Knowing who he was, the bartender ignored him and returned to the drinks he was preparing. Garry couldn't say he knew him.

Garry straightened his shirt. It was dark where he stood, so no one would pay much attention to him. He gathered himself and directed his attention to the stage, and he found Carrie had not lied to him.

Ib was on the thrust stage, and other performers were making their rounds at the tables below. It was hard for a lot of the patrons to not pay attention to her. Garry searched for Mary and found her in a circle of men, all watching intently.

Ib stepped carefully around the pole at the center of the room, circling it. She was already entirely familiar with the stage, Garry was sure of it, but the whole act looked so genuine, as if she'd never been on the stage. She had her leg around the pole and turned herself effortlessly, twisting around it without so much as a break. She landed, rolled her body against the bar, bringing herself closer to the floor every time her hips locked. She pulled herself up, around the bar, her thighs wrapped around the dull metal. Across the room, fifteen yards away, Garry could hear the beads on her skirt jingle as they rolled back against her soft hips and dangled off.

He snapped back to reality as she pulled back the waistband of her panties, and he could swear she had tens of twenties there in her hip. Scattered around her were ones and fives. The noise was deafening.

Garry ran behind the bar and back into the hall as Ib was just finishing her act; he knew he had to make it to the stage on time for the last hour.  
He ran into Carrie, who asked over the noise of the hall, "Did she do well?"

Garry shouted back, "She was incredible!"

By the time he was up on stage, the crowd was still cheering as Ib made her way off. Ib watched him as he leapt up to the podium. He fixed himself and stood as if he had been there from the start of the night.

He leaned into the mic: "Darling, you were absolutely phenomenal!" The strip club veterans were elated. Ib brushed her hair off her shoulder and smiled modestly, stepping behind the curtain.

In the back of the room, he watched Mary in a crowd of men clapping and whooping. Mary clapped and cheered with them, but past her makeup, Garry could tell she was absolutely livid.


	3. Night Two (Part 1)

_A/N: A shorter chapter than most..._

_By the way, this fanfic is also on AO3 under the same name, just in case something somehow happens to this version. (So in case this gets taken down, you can find it there!)_

* * *

The following night, the first to arrive out of the female trio was Carrie, who arrived with a boxed gift in her arms. When Garry gave her a quizzical look at the gift she had received, she pulled him into the dressing room.

She handled the box very carefully as she lifted its lid, but showed no mercy as she turned it upside down. Ten cigarette cartons tumbled out onto the carpet, thumping against the ground. When she had emptied the box, she dropped the box and its lid on the floor next to the mound.  
"One of my fans works down the street at that little convenience store on Tryst," she said. "I dressed up really well just to go down there. Thank God. He called it a one-time discount." Garry was sure it would become a two-time discount next time she visited.

"You're a god, Carrie," He praised her, bringing her into a hug. Carrie squeezed him back.

"You can have three cartons only because I adore you."

"Please marry me."

"Gross. Grab yourself some cartons."

* * *

He dropped the cartons in his dressing room, where his co-announcer was lounging in the corner in a beanbag, idling happily on his phone. Garry didn't say a word to him as he dropped them on the counter. Garry knew he didn't smoke, so he knew it was likely nothing would happen to them; his coworker wasn't a smoker, either.

He returned to find Ib had shown up to work. Perplexed by the mound of cigarette cartons on the floor, she gave the situation some thought before stepping around them. She gave him a small "hello" when she noticed Garry and popped open the black makeup kit on the vanity counter.

"Enjoying your smokes?" Carrie joked, turning to Garry in her stool. She had been admiring herself in her mirror. The cabinet below her feet had been propped open. In it, Garry could see four wigs atop her identical mannequin heads. She had a wig on her counter, half-styled.

"I have yet to break them in. Was I gone for that long?"

"No, I was just teasing you." She put her comb down and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. Garry sensed Ib's astonishment from across the room as they both watched. With her shirt around her head, she continued, "Don't you have a schedule to check?"

"Right, might as well get that over with." Garry stepped to the side, but stopped before he could begin his trek to the stage. Carrie stood and made her way to her wardrobe; her arms were outstretched, and in her hand was her shirt, all balled up. "Getting changed so soon?"

"Seems like it," she nodded, shuffling through her clothes rack in her bra. "The boss is on his way to talk to us about it, surely."

Garry stepped out. "I'll be back in a minute."

He shut the door behind him. In the hall, a girl was walking away from him into a dressing room. From behind, he couldn't quite see who she was. In the background, he could hear muffled laughter and the air vents humming overhead.

On his way to the stage, he ran into the manager, who seemed exhausted but thankful to see Garry. He dabbed his forehead with a stained kerchief. "There's been a slight change in schedule." He was heaving. "Have you seen the papers?"

"I was just on my way," he assured him.

"Alright, get on that for me, Garry." He coughed, already out of breath from running around. He wasn't nearly fit enough to be running around managing a cabaret, yet he seemed just the kind to own one.

He watched his boss's face light up as a group of loud chatting girls knocked on the back door, requesting entry. He shouted, "Ladies!" at the door, and there was a loud cheer from beyond the entrance. Garry left him to his work.

He stepped onto the stage and found two papers stapled together-luckily very few, which surprised him, so the night wouldn't be too long.

Ib had taken over someone else's time slot on stage, a girl named Rose, as fate would have it, and he wasn't surprised. It wasn't that Rose just wasn't good, but Ib was probably in the boss's favor. She was on with Garry when he would be announcing, as well, and he found himself glad to have her on stage when he was free to watch her up close. She was impossibly light on her feet and very flexible, and he found her performance more poetic than anything. He wasn't "cultured" to it, but to a trained eye, she was extremely skilled. Garry was nothing short of thrilled.

This schedule was meant for a short night, and even though work was long, it was, after all, a Monday. The schedule, although only lasting a span of three hours, was all over the place. As Garry was realizing how confusing the night would be with so many people switching stage times, he heard the whining complaints of the girls in the back hall, crying to the manager about performing at different intervals without clean transitions. He focused on the papers.

Carrie was opening act. Ib was two acts former. Carrie was on again halfway through. Mary closed. If Ib and Mary weren't on stage the rest of the night like the schedule said, they would be on the floor with their own patrons.

Garry would be announcing only for an hour, which he was relieved to find. Monday was always a good day for him, as contrary as the statement was, because he knew he wouldn't be announcing for very long on Monday nights. His co-announcer would take over for the last two-thirds. Only rarely did that change.

It was realizing his short hours and comparing them to the other cabarets and clubs around town that Garry was thankful he worked for Rosie's instead of a cabaret with eight-hour nights. He was also, in a way, embarrassed, knowing he complained about the very occasional six-hour night more often than not. It felt prestigious, in a strange way, to belong to a strip club that was good enough to perform only for a few hours.

When Garry returned, Carrie had her outfit around her waist, pasties on. Garry was used to it, so he passed her by. At the sight of Carrie standing around topless, he wondered if Ib was adjusting.

Mary still hadn't shown, and Garry was anything but surprised. Ib was lounging in a tank top and skirt; she was about to start on her makeup and had her brushes strewn out, but she had become distracted by her phone. He could tell Carrie and Ib weren't in a rush, knowing they didn't have to be on for another hour and a half.

"You're on first tonight," Garry noted, standing behind Carrie. She was inspecting her face in the mirror. Ib flinched before realizing Garry hadn't been speaking to her.

Carrie nodded, applying concealer to her nose. She didn't look at Garry's reflection as she spoke, too focused on her job. "So I heard. Excited to watch Ib perform?" Ib ignored Carrie and finally started getting to work, smoothing concealer over her cheek. Carrie eyed her for a moment. Garry turned to look. "Are you planning on worming your way out of that top after you've put all that makeup on?"

Ib continued her work. "Too late now, I suppose."

"You've hardly started," She retorted with a taunting giggle. Garry kicked her. Carrie yelped and kicked him back. "Don't kick me!"

"Oh, dont bother her!" Ib was scarlet. Pouting, Carrie returned to her work. Garry continued, "Do either of you need a drink before you're both past the point of drinking out of a cup?"

"I'll be fine," Carrie replied. She waved her water bottle. She turned to Ib, makeup and bottle in hand. "You thirsty?"

"Water would be nice," she agreed. Garry nodded and jogged out.

The hall was strangely vacant, he realized, but he wasn't too worried; not many people showed up on Monday in the first place. He poured a cup for himself at the water station.

Garry returned shortly, two paper cups of water in hand. Ib was standing behind the curtain when he returned. With every move she made, it danced back and forth. Garry walked over to Ib's vanity and put the water down beside her brushes.

"She's putting on pasties back there," Carrie informed him. Ib whined at her choice of wording from behind the drapes. Garry laughed and took a drink.

Ib stepped out hesitantly, and she blushed down to her chest so the pasties didn't quite give their full effect over the contrast of her red skin. Garry realized then, now that she was closer than a room away, that she couldn't have been bigger than a B-cup (which was being generous), but it only intensified the fact that she had to be incredible. He was impressed. Ib retreated quickly to her stool.

Carrie noticed and yelped with joy, satisfied in her attempt to get Ib to strip down. "That's the spirit!" Sometimes, Garry couldn't tell if she was sincerely trying to help Ib adjust to the typical atmosphere of the club or if Carrie was just trying to get Ib out of her clothes.

She sat down in her seat, sulking as she realized she had been persuaded into such a situation.

"What a thin little thing." Carrie's fingers flitted, her acrylic nails clicking against each other. "Sometimes I'm afraid your back will snap in half..." She turned to Garry. Carrie didn't break eye contact as she prepared herself to continue, but Garry cut in.

"Don't bring me into this."

Carrie slammed her makeup onto the table, creating a cloud of powder. "I am tired of your attitude, Garry. Tell the girl she's got a great body."

Garry sat down on a stool. "You've got a great body."

"Thanks." Ib wasn't listening.

Carrie looked up mischievously at Garry, but he continued: "She won't like you if you keep teasing her."

Carrie gasped melodramatically and turned to Ib, her hand over her mouth. "You don't hate me, do you, Ib?"

"No." She was still only hardly listening, but she smiled playfully, setting down her powders. She turned to the two of them. "It's hard to agree myself that I have a great body when I'm the size of nine-year-old." Garry laughed and laughed, and Carrie groaned, kicking his legs out from under his stool. He didn't pay her any mind.

"Don't let yourself be defined by how you look," Carrie announced, "or how thin you might be." Garry rolled his eyes, still grinning. Ib flipped her hair out of her face, continuing with her powder. She glanced at Garry and mimicked his smile, and he was only further elated.

Carrie was quick with her makeup and began to style her wigs. She had plenty of time to waste with them, and she loved doing it. Ib and Garry listened as Carrie spoke about the routines she had planned, and Garry helped with Ib's eye makeup in the meantime. As she mentioned how she'd done the choreography over a few weeks all on her own, she brought a thought to Garry's attention, and he kindly interrupted Carrie to request a moment of Ib's time.

He focused on Ib's makeup, asking, "Ib, did you choreograph all your dances yourself?"

She was having trouble keeping still, and speaking only made it harder on him to apply makeup to Ib's face. "Like… did I plan the whole routine?"

"That's what I'm asking."

She fidgeted, and Garry lifted the brush from her eyelid impatiently with a frown. Ib's eyes sunk. "Sorry. No, it was improvised."


	4. Night Two (Part 2)

When Garry returned from changing, Mary was getting ready in the dressing room. She didn't pay any attention to him as he entered. Carrie and Ib were lazing around on their phones, already in costume. Carrie had a lit cigarette in her mouth. Garry stood in the doorway, uncomfortable with the lack of attention the room gave him.

"Carrie, we're on in five." Ib hadn't looked up. Carrie put out her cigarette. She stood up without a word, powering her phone down and throwing it on the chair's seat. Ib did the same.

"Want to come along?" Garry offered. Ib nodded and stood up, stretching.

They were all oddly quiet, and Garry wondered if he'd come in at a bad time. He and Carrie stood and waited for Ib to finish stretching. Ib adjusted her costume in the mirror and followed them out.

"Did something happen?" He asked them both once we were out of earshot of Mary. Carrie looked at him, her sculpted eyebrows furrowed. Ib turned away.

"Not that I know of," Carrie replied, deeply perplexed. She turned to Ib for a moment, and then turned away.

Garry motioned for Carrie to stop and she understood, and Garry stepped in front of her. Ib stopped before him, and Carrie watched from the side, mildly confused but entertained.

"Is something wrong?" Garry asked her as she looked up at him, seemingly shocked.

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine... why?"

"You seem out of it."

She laughed sheepishly.

Garry sighed. "Don't stress yourself out."

"No one told me it was all supposed to be choreographed."

"I just expected your routines to be choreographed." He reassured her. She and Carrie nodded in agreement.

They all were still quiet as they stepped backstage and heard the loud music playing over the PA system.

Garry felt Ib tug on his jacket. "Hey, does... does Mary not like me?"

"What?" Garry turned to her voice, hardly able to see in the dark behind the curtain. "I... I don't know. You should probably talk to her about that."

"Mm." He could tell Ib was leaning up against the wall behind her. Carrie fidgeted beside them. She had never liked being an opening act, but she was good nonetheless. Garry leaned over and murmured, "You'll do great," and he heard Carrie giggle from the darkness.

Garry stepped out from behind the curtain and Carrie followed suit, just across the stage. He could tolerate the lights tonight; they were never directly on him, but it was hot standing under the general area of the stage lighting even when he wasn't exactly under it. He knew he was going to regret what he was wearing.

The floor wasn't as loud as usual, but he was still pleased with the reaction Carrie immediately received. He introduced Carrie and the night itself briefly, and his announcement was met with a loud applause. Carrie blushed and waved warmly to the room. On the floor, a portion of the staff were making their rounds around the tables. Carrie shouted out to the floor something Garry couldn't understand, but it seemed to rile up everyone. It only took another phrase from Garry before he was off-stage until the next performers, five minutes after.

His job consisted mostly of running back and forth from his podium to lighting to the PA system. For such a popular cabaret, it was very inefficient, but he didn't complain; technology did a majority of his job for him. The setup, although impractical, had never failed before. He returned backstage and checked the playlist for the night. It was set to stop and go at certain intervals. Everything was functioning correctly, so he didn't bother with it. The lights were fine, as well.

Garry couldn't maneuver around the dark or find a place to sit down; the performers were the only ones with chairs. Behind the curtain, there couldn't have been more than five feet of space from the rear curtain to the back wall. Light came in from the stage, and Garry could see Ib sitting between two other performers, each one of them managing their nails. The performer to Ib's right exited onto the stage as the song was changing. Carrie was still on by the time the girl had left.

"Nervous?" Garry asked her, taking the open seat. Ib shook her head, and her hair moved with her. Ib makeup was sealed well; she looked painted, which was what she wanted. While they waited, she fiddled with the ends of her hair.

Garry entered the stage with Ib and introduced her. He hadn't expected much of a reaction, but she received a chorus of applause as he said her name. Ib took charge quickly, and Garry stood in the dark just long enough to see her begin before he had to head off.

Garry met Mary backstage, who ignored him while he stood around and waited. Garry watched the playlist go on to a second song and play out and was back on stage by the time Ib had left. At that point, he had a break window, and three more girls came out. He introduced them only for a moment before his job was done.

Ib and Mary were having a conversation amongst themselves when he saw them, both equally distressed, and Garry stood silently to the side. After a minute or so, he caught Mary's eye, and she beckoned him over.

"I'm going to take Ib to meet some of my regulars." She pronounced haughtily. "Want to tag along?"

He gave it a second of thought. He didn't really care to meet anyone, especially Mary's fans, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt. He agreed to come along, and she flashed him a toothy grin.

* * *

She led him and Ib onto the floor, and Garry recognized Mary's regulars immediately; they hollered at the sight of Mary entering the room. Ib was certainly nothing short of terrified. Garry wondered if anyone else could tell how uncomfortable she was.

"Boys!" Mary shouted over the music as she approached the group behind the tables. A burly, bald man replied with "Mary!" and Garry realized the man could have killed him with one punch if he wanted to.

"I brought out a friend for you all!" Mary beamed, gesturing to Ib and completely overlooking Garry, who was not the least bit surprised. He had never truly felt like a third wheel in a platonic relationship until that moment.

The men in their booths and chairs said typical, cringe-worthy things to her, like "hello gorgeous" and "hey cutie", and Garry didn't flinch.

From behind the group, he heard someone ask, "Where ya from, sweetheart?", and without a beat, Ib replied bashfully, "Nowhere you've ever heard of." They were all thoroughly overjoyed at her response.

Garry was ignored for the duration of his visit until a young businessman who was visibly uncomfortable in his seat said to him, "Your announcing tonight was great."

Garry was skeptical, as it wasn't his job to be complimented, but he took the compliment. He nodded toward the businessman. As the man redirected his attention, Garry watched him twist his wedding ring around his ring finger.

Mary could tell Garry wasn't having a good time, so she dismissed him. He left without another word. As he stepped away, he watched Ib attempt to hustle some loud frat boys out of their money. He was mildly amused, but he didn't want to ruin her act, so he ducked away into the back hallway, smiling.

Garry announced for another thirty minutes after before he was out of the lights and off for the night. He was dying to get out of his clothes for the first time in weeks, so he ran off to his dressing room and stripped down into boxers and a t-shirt. He sat in a beanbag, fanning himself in front of an electric fan for fifteen minutes before Carrie came looking for him.

"Aren't you just a hot piece of ass," She noted, suggesting the sweat that was practically pouring off of him was anything but absolutely disgusting. He responded to her sarcasm with a groan. She continued, "I haven't seen you this exhausted in months. I'll get you some water." He heard her stilettos clink all the way down the linoleum hall until they were gone. She was gone for a minute and came back with three cups of water and Ib, who was just trailing behind. Ib handed him a cup, forcing a smile.

"Are you alright?" Ib asked, brushing Garry's stringy bangs out of his eyes. He wiped his face with his arm. Carrie downed her water.  
"I'll be fine," He brushed her off. Ib sat down on the floor next to him. "I just wore too much."

"Be more careful next time," she scolded. She took a drink of water. "It's really hot up there."

"How did your hustling go?"

"I gave two lap dances." She flashed him a smile. Carrie nodded with proud affirmation. Under her breath, Garry heard Carrie mumble, "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." Garry ignored the comment. She waved goodbye, and he waved back.

"Did they go well?"

"Yeah. They were both college boys." She laughed shyly. Garry could hear Carrie's stilettos all the way down the hall. "I thought they would grab me."

Garry downed the water and wiped his mouth, warily surprised. "They didn't?"

"Nope."

"Good. That's good. I'm glad." She nodded with him. "They don't like getting kicked out, so it doesn't happen often."

She was silent. He added, "Mary's regulars were terrifying."

Ib laughed. "I thought they were going to eat me." She stopped herself. "There was a nice, big guy there, though. His name was Billy."

"The bald guy?"

"Yeah, him." She sipped her water. "He told me he thought my outfit was cute."

"That's nice, I suppose."

"He was a nice guy. I thought he was scary at first. I was kinda flattered, though."

"Do you have to leave soon?" He asked. She blinked. He bit his tongue and resumed, "Sorry, I... I didn't want you to lose track of time."

She checked the clock on the wall behind him. "Is that clock right?"

"It should be."

"Not for a while." She stood up and stretched. "I don't have class tomorrow. Will you be okay?"

"I think so."

"Alright. Do I look okay?"

"You look gorgeous."

She kicked at the rug bashfully. "Are you leaving soon?"

"Not for a while. I can walk you out after the show if you'd like."

She backed into the hallway. "That'd be great. I'll see you in a bit!" Garry waved. Ib ran off, shoes clacking down the hallway.

* * *

Garry fell asleep after a few minutes without changing out of his grimy clothes and woke up to Ib nudging him awake, kneeling on the floor. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

"Hey, gorgeous." She was beaming. Garry had a feeling Carrie was beginning to rub off on her.

"Right, right. Sorry." He stood up and leaned against the wall, blood rushing to his head. "I forgot to change."

"I can wait." She flopped down into the beanbag and pulled her phone from her purse. She had already changed out of her costume and was ready to leave. Garry was struck with guilt for falling asleep.

Garry changed into a clean shirt and pants, and struggled to buckle his belt; he couldn't shake how tired he was, probably due to how warm the room was, rendering him lethargic. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ib wearing a long coat, red skirt, and black leggings, and he wondered how she was wearing so many layers of clothing until he realized it was December and, in fact, not ninety degrees outside like it was in his dressing room.

He slipped into his black coat, significantly shorter than Ib's; the cuffs were frayed from wear. He pulled it up over his shoulders and grabbed his backpack from the corner. Ib was already standing before he could help her up. She didn't struggle to stand, even in heels, and he probably should've known better. After all, she was a dancer.

"Shall we?" He said, holding out his hand. She took it with a grin, and he found her hand was much smaller than his in comparison, even when hers was gloved.

He shut the door behind them and stepped into the hall. Some of the lights were already off in the hallway, and he could tell Carrie had probably already left; she had work in the morning. Mary was still there, surely, since she was the final act. Part of the staff was gone, given it was Monday and the show was mostly over anyway. He didn't care to bother Mary.

They passed some girls on the way out who were done for the night. They waved as Ib and Garry walked past, and one said to Ib, "You did great tonight! Have a good one." She turned pink as she said goodbye.

Garry opened the back door for Ib, and she stepped out. He followed her out, and the door closed. Out of the corner of his eye, Garry noticed a man standing a few feet away from them, leaning against the brick wall of the building. Strip clubs had a stereotype of being pretty shady, and the fact that it was night only made the notion worse, but he was still taken aback by the presence of someone else. He assumed he was either a pervert or a drug dealer. He didn't look at him, but, by instinct, he pulled Ib close to his side. The white cloud of her breath grew thicker.

"Ecstacy?" He said to them, a thick accent in his voice.

"We're fine," Garry said. Ib grabbed the sleeve of his coat. He pulled her against him, reminding her he was still there.

He heard Ib fumble with her keys in her purse, her hands numb from the cold even under her gloves. Her black Volkswagen honked obnoxiously as she unlocked it from a few feet away with two clicks of her keys.

Garry opened her door for her, and she slid into the front seat.

"I'll see you tomorrow," He said, stooped over so she could hear him. He pressed his hand against the roof of her car. "Can I give you my phone number?"

"Oh, sure." It was strange for him to not have her phone number already (Garry had the phone number of everyone at the club, just in case), but Ib was unaware. She shuffled through her purse until she had an old receipt and a pen in front of him. He smoothed the receipt out on his jeans and scribbled his number down. Out of the corner of his eye, Garry could tell the dealer hadn't moved.

"I'll text you," He amended. She took the receipt.

"Please." Ib hesitated. "I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and shut her door. Her car started slowly. He walked back into the parking lot and unlocked his own car. He listened to Ib drive off.

Once he had slid into the driver's seat, he shut the door and stared into space for a while, numb to the cold.

He started his car, forgetting he had left his stereo's volume up, and he darted for the volume dial at the first booming note. Sighing, he reclined in the driver's seat. Having backed into his parking space, he drove out of his space and out onto the gravel driveway.

Just as he got onto the freeway, his phone buzzed in his bag.


	5. Night Three (Part 1)

_A/N: It took me a long time to upload because of my anxiety attacks, so sorry about that. I hope you all are enjoying it so far. xx_

* * *

Garry was always pleasantly surprised when Carrie was at work before him, so when he found her sitting and waiting around for a visitor when he arrived, he was elated. He loved having company from the moment he arrived at work. She typically grabbed his papers for him when she was early, as well, knowing that her dressing room was his first stop when he got in. He took the schedule from her as he propped the door open with a chair.

It was Tuesday, and by the way he saw the schedule changing, he knew the schedule was going to be a slow change over the course of the week. He wasn't as shaken by the order as he had been on Monday, but that time around he was both relieved and concerned to find he would be announcing less.

He pointed towards a jumbled setup and moved the paper so Carrie could see. "Are all these people performing without choreography at the same time?"

She nodded, knowing she was going up with two others for three different songs. "I'm with them. Honestly, I would rather have the stage for myself."

"I know you would." Garry set the schedule on her vanity counter and cracked his neck. Carrie cringed, but Garry failed to notice. "Do you have a cigarette?"

She turned her stool around to her vanity and sifted through her purse until she had a cigarette in her hand. Garry took it, and Carrie pulled out a lighter and a cigarette for herself. She twirled it in her finger. Garry's response was automatic- to pat his pockets until he found which pocket held his lighter, but the third time around with no luck, Carrie stopped him. "Here, let me." She leaned forward and lit his cigarette.

The flame went out and he inhaled, and a plume of smoke followed Garry's warm voice. "Thanks."

She lit hers. "No problem. Did you two have fun last night?"

"What?"

"I left you and Ib in your dressing room."

He laughed. "I guess, why?"

Carrie groaned. "I thought you would have an interesting story for me!"

"It wasn't too terribly exciting."

There was a murmur from outside. "Are you guys done talking about me?"

Carrie laughed dramatically. "Yes, we're done! Were you listening to us talk about you that entire time?" She flicked ash into a crystal ashtray she had positioned in her lap.

Ib stepped in and shut the door behind her. She dropped her drawstring bag in a corner and started to cough. "God, that's awful."

"We can put them out." Carrie assured her, but she made no effort to pull the cigarette away from her face. She was keen on going though each carton, surely.

"No, it's just… strong." She choked out the last word and sputtered.

"Seriously. I can put it out. Do you have asthma or something?"

"No, I don't." She shook her head violently and coughed once more. Garry grimaced. "I'm just not used to the smell."

"I would offer one to you, but…" Carrie began to lower her hand.

Ib considered. "Sure, I could try one."

"Ib!" Garry yelled, turning to Ib in his stool. He turned to Carrie for help when Ib failed to respond appropriately with the turn of her head, but Carrie, as well, was unsympathetic. Garry scowled. "She doesn't need to smoke."

"Like hell." She leaned over and handed Ib a cigarette. She smiled and took it with enthusiasm. Carrie beckoned her forward. "C'mere so I can light that thing."

"Oh, God."

She lit the cigarette, and Ib pulled it away from her mouth immediately. "What do I do?" She asked, turning the cigarette in her hand. Garry sighed, flicking ash into the crystal ashtray.

"Just breathe in. Not too much."

"She's going to puke, Carrie!" Garry cried.

He watched her impending doom, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth. Ib leaned on him with her hand for support, sighing. "Can you catch my puke?"

"I will not."

She inspected the cigarette for a moment before putting it in her mouth and taking a cautious breath. She had barely breathed before she ripped it away suddenly, small plumes of smoke erupting from her mouth with every cough.

Carrie took the cigarette and put it out quickly. She took a puff of her own. Garry was twitching to help despite his reluctance, more out of fear for her health than sympathy. His cries of distress countered his actions somewhat.

"Don't puke on me!" He could hear Carrie giggling.

Garry heard Ib groan through her chokes, but she was smiling.

"I told you you didn't need that!" Garry was rubbing circles into her back, his other hand holding his cigarette to his face to casually cover his embarrassed laughter. As fatherly as he desired himself to be, he was not in a good position to convincingly pull it off. "What were you thinking?!"

She rested her arms on his shoulders and cleared her throat. "Sorry."

"You're really not good at smoking," Carrie laughed.

"So I see," she panted. Carrie handed her a water bottle, and Ib gulped half of it down. "I can taste the lung cancer in my mouth."

"Well." Carrie watched her, amused.

They put their cigarettes out quickly after, and it gave Ib time to catch her breath. After a moment, all the excitement had dissipated, and everyone was getting back to business. Garry didn't want to have to deal with his clothes just yet, so he avoided the idea of leaving, hanging around the two girls as they set up their room.

He spoke to them as they were getting ready, shedding clothes and putting on makeup. When Ib was ready to get changed, she hid behind the curtain, saying she was "still scared of getting changed in front of other people"; in turn, Garry offered to leave, but she shook her head: "No, I'll just hide." Garry was stunned into silence. Carrie laughed at him.

As the two of them finished their makeup, Mary arrived with an array of dresses in tow, stacked one by one on her arm. She didn't greet Carrie's sunny "hello", and Carrie was nothing less than irritated with her roommate the moment she walked past. Ib backed silently away from her vanity, grabbing her makeup she had yet to apply. Mary sat in her fluffy stool, throwing off her clothes.

"Um, hi, sunshine," Carrie barked.

"Sorry I'm late," Mary muttered, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

They all were quiet. Garry noticed Ib fidget behind her clothing rack, retreating to a dark corner where their lockers were.

"So, Mary, did you get some new dresses?" Ib asked from afar. Garry observed the exchange, knowing he was safe from engagement as long as he kept his distance.

Mary jumped with excitement, a contrast from the atmosphere. "I did!" She turned to Carrie in her stool, rubbing her foundation into her face. Little by little, her bangs began to fall into her eyes. "They're super cute! You can try them on if you want."

"Oh, no thanks," Ib declined. Garry could sense in her voice the strong regret over beginning a conversation. She stepped out sheepishly from the curtain then, dressed only in a lacey patterned bra and matching panties.

"Oh, you're already changed!" Mary chimed. Garry and Carrie exchanged stubborn glances. "On that note, could I try on a dress of yours, Ib?"

Garry flinched, and Ib followed suit at the request, a delay in realizing the question had been directed to her. "I… I suppose…" She said. A "no" in anyone else's mind, but Mary surely wouldn't pick up on it.

Mary continued on her makeup, and Ib stepped in a few times to help her. Garry could tell even from a few feet away that her hands were trembling.

By the time Ib was done with Mary, Carrie had moved to another chair and was kicking back, texting aggressively. Mary went straight for Ib's dresses when Ib backed away. She almost tripped over herself when she backed into the vanity to move herself out of Mary's way.

"This one's cute!" Mary exclaimed, pulling a dark red dress from the rack. It wasn't something Garry would have expected to see on stage; it covered too much, although it certainly was short. He knew the manager chose the outfits, so he wondered why he would incorporate a dress in with the rest of her wardrobe.

Ib murmured, "Oh, that's mine..." and Garry's suspicions were corrected.

Mary slipped into the dress, ignoring Ib. She became aware of the zipper that ran up the back of the dress and backed into Ib. "Will you help me with this?" She asked, her hands bent awkwardly behind her back. She dropped her arms when Ib grabbed the zipper and began tugging on it. It zipped up nearly all the way until it was up to her shoulder blades, and it stopped there. From that point, it wasn't going anywhere.

Ib strained for a few seconds longer and tugged relentlessly at the zipper before the room heard a distinguishable ripping noise, and they all knew the zipper had torn away from the fabric. Garry had seen it coming clear as day, but he was still shocked at the noise, as if he had witnessed a car crash just then. He heard Ib sigh, "It ripped…", and she unzipped the ruined dress.

Mary was borderline-fuming. "You're flatter than me! Of course I didn't fit!" She writhed her way out of the torn dress, and Ib gave her room. She was mortified.

"Hey, now, don't be like that..." Garry retorted, standing from his chair and marching towards them. Mary flung the dress to the ground. Garry dropped to the floor and grabbed it. He stood and stepped around Mary to hand the dress to Ib. "It's an easy fix," He assured her, and she nodded, taking the dress with steady hands. "Yeah, I... I can fix it tomorrow. It's not a problem."

"Mary, stop bothering the poor girl!" Carrie interjected, pushing herself up from her chair. She dropped her phone in her seat. "You have other priorities besides destroying her clothing! What were you thinking?!" Garry was mildly entertained by the fact that Mary was being yelled at in the buff. She was red from her face to her shoulders.

"Ugh, fine." She stepped to the side, swinging open the wardrobe next to Ib's clothing rack. She looked over her choices. Carrie had already returned to occupying herself with her phone.

Garry was prepared to sit in the silence and return to his chair, but the printed schedule moving in his peripheral vision grabbed his attention. He turned to see Ib reading over the schedule herself. Something amused her, though Garry couldn't catch what it was before she was up and moving again, sitting herself down in front of the vanity mirror.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and pulled open a drawer to find a hair clip for her bangs, cut straight across her face. It wasn't until she looked up at Garry and smirked that he realized he had been watching her for a few seconds too long. "Want to help me?" She teased. He complied with a sigh and pulled her bangs up out of her eyes. She handed him a clip, and he pinned her hair back back.

"Garry, it's already 8pm, you know," Carrie said.

"You're kidding," He gasped. Ib smiled in the mirror, staring at herself while she relaxed. He heard Mary's wardrobe squeak as she shut it.  
"Nope." She stood at the mirror where Garry could see her, running her fingers through her hair. "I ought to start getting ready at least. I've had my fun." She pulled her stool out. "You'll need to start getting ready, yourself, cutie."

"I agree." Ib unzipped her makeup bag, and Garry stepped back. "Cutie?"

"Oh, hell," Carrie scoffed. "You're precious."

Mary laughed. "He's also really gay."

Carrie's jaw clenched. Ib snorted. Carrie failed to notice. "He's pansexual, Mary."

"I need to get changed."

"Hurry back!" Carrie yelled, turning from the door as Garry shut it.

He hardly tried to hurry to avoid watching three girls apply makeup. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy their company- he adored Carrie and Ib- but watching women put on makeup wasn't my favorite past time.

He wasn't surprised to find his coworker had yet to arrive. He shoved his clothes into the back of his locker as he stripped himself of each article. It was oddly quiet in his dressing room since he was so far away from everyone else, so the change between going from a room with four people to a room of his own left him momentarily lonely.

He fumbled over his black tie as he always did; he found a tear in its underside and knew he couldn't immediately retire or fix it. He tucked it into the neck of his suit vest.

He drew out each step on his walk back to Mary's room, but with Lady and her friends just ahead, he couldn't walk any slower. There was a large group of then waiting around in the hallway, all dressed up and ready for work. They had been so quiet the whole time, he hadn't realized they clocked in. They were all leaning against the walls opposite of each other, and they greeted Garry as he walked pass, some waving.

As he stepped into the room, he wasn't surprised to find all three of the girls completely absorbed in painting their faces. He was a little disheartened; he'd hoped they would have been finished in the time it had taken Garry to dress himself, but he saw Carrie was just moving onto her eyeshadow.

Garry sat in the view of their mirrors, but they were too focused to care. Already, Ib seemed to have made amends with Mary; they were sharing a mirror, neither exchanging a word. Garry could hear most of the conversation outside, though it was nothing interesting.

He kicked his feet against his stool for a moment and drummed against his legs, looking around the room as he waited.

Ib's tube of mascara clattered against the counter, and she pushed herself up from her seat. She turned in Garry's direction, grabbing a hair brush.

"How's this?" She asked. Her eyeliner was winged like it had been on her first day; her red eyeshadow blended into black over her eyeliner. The red in the hollows of her cheeks was perfect.

"Good."

She handed Garry the hair brush and turned. Realizing what she was doing, Garry hesitated. Somehow, it wasn't his strongest field, brushing hair, but he decided to play along; he couldn't do that much harm.

He took her hair in his hands. She had very healthy hair (unlike his own, bleached to disrepair). Hers was thick, but not quite to the extent that Mary's hair was. He hadn't a clue why Ib had asked him to brush her hair, since there were no tangles or knots. She was out of view of the mirror, but she seemed to relax.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep," Carrie said. She had stopped applying lipstick.

"No one's played with my hair in years," Ib sighed, leaning her elbow on Garry's leg. He leaned back in his stool, and it creaked under his weight.

Carrie eyed Garry suspciously, and he was thrown off wondering what she was trying to tell him in one glance; he tried to quickly finish brushing Ib's hair. Ib was entirely still.

When he had finished, Garry held the brush in front of her. "Here you go." She looked down and stared for a moment before she took the brush.

Garry looked up at Mary, who he found had been staring only at herself in the mirror for quite some time.

"You sure are quiet," He said to her.

She scowled at Garry's reflection in the mirror. "I'm not!"

* * *

Garry led all three girls backstage before the show. Mary managed an enthusiastic facade in front of all the staff that Garry saw right through. Carrie was bouncing on the balls of her feet while they sat around in the cramped room behind the curtains. When Garry shot her a look, she groaned melodramatically. Rarely was she ever nervous for a show, but she seemed to be nervous then. She hopped in place whenever she was getting a gut feeling of anxiety; attacks were always common with her. She was not at all thrilled, at least.

Ib was working with some kind of footing all on her own, but instead of surveying her on it, Garry just let her at it. In the far corner by the door, Mary was talking boisterously with two girls who were just as excited as she.

Garry could only somewhat hear Ib humming in time to her footwork across from him, though he couldn't tell what it was exactly that she was humming. Carrie was entirely lost in her nervous bouncing reverie; Garry didn't plan on breaking her train of thought (or lack thereof).

Ib turned towards Garry, still on her toes. "Do you know this song?"

He shook his head. "I can't say I do..."

"No?" She hummed some more, hopping around with a euphoric grace. As the melody became familiar to him, she stopped humming and threw her balance. Carrie's daze snapped while Ib began to spin, faster and faster on her toes. Garry laughed and clapped for her, entranced. The three girls who had once been chatting with Mary kicked up a giddy air over her dancing, clapping enthusiastically.

Ib stopped herself and stepped to the side, and Carrie clapped for a moment. Her nerves were entirely gone; Garry and Carrie stood still, smiling identically.

Mary and the girls directed their attention back to their subject at hand. Ib bounded over to Garry.

"How did I do?" She asked. Carrie was delighted.

"You looked like you were having fun," Garry noted, a toothy grin plastered to his face.

"I was!" Ib swept her hair off her shoulder, beaming. "My mom made me do ballet when I was younger. It was dreadful when I was young, but now I suppose it's more handy than I ever thought it would be."

Garry leaned back, crossing his arms. "How long did you do ballet for?"

"I don't know. A long time. Six years, I think."

Garry was speechless. "W-why did you ever stop?!"

She shrugged and turned her face away. "In retrospect, I wasn't too bright. I probably would have quit sooner if I had been a more outspoken child. I got scholarship money for it once, before I knew what a scholarship was."

"Five minutes!" One of the girls shouted. Garry straightened his vest.

"You looked so pretty spinning like that!" Carrie interjected, a bounce in her voice. Ib giggled bashfully.

"It's nothing."

"I got dizzy just looking at you." Carrie crossed her arms.

Ib turned to Garry. "So, you're pansexual?"

Garry groaned. "Really?"

"I guess. What's up with that, then?"

"I just like dudes."

"But you're pansexual."

"Okay, girls, too."

Carrie was whispering something, and when Ib coyly kicked her to get her to stop, Carrie gasped teasingly and kicked her back.

"You're not going to start asking me about my sex life, are you?"

"No. Gross." Ib and Carrie continued to play heel tennis. "Unless you care to share."

"That would take hours," Carrie groaned jokingly, uttering profanities when Ib snagged Carrie's stiletto heel in hers. Ib grabbed absently at Carrie's hand while she struggled, and Carrie began to fight against her.

"Don't share that!"

"Fine, I guess you're a virgin." Carrie strained, pushing against Ib. Ib was having a blast.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"At _least_ five dudes, am I right?"

"Carrie, are we really doing this?!"

She grunted when she knew Ib had the upper hand. "Six?"

"Carrie!" He was mortified. There was an all-knowing glint in her eyes.

"Ib," she groaned, still fighting, "I'll have you know Garry has had at least seven guys-"

Garry screeched. Carrie and Ib doubled over laughing, forgetting their fight, and he was deathly embarrassed over the infraction of his voice.

"How many girls, then?" Ib murmured.

Carrie laughed audaciously. "Two."

"Carrie, I will report you for sexual harassment."

Carrie screamed, but she was smiling. "We work in a strip club, you asshole! Don't pull that 'harassment' crap on me!" Ib was muffling her laughter.

"Thanks, Carrie."

"Well, I wasn't lying!" He wasn't going to argue that.

Ib butted in: "Do you have a preference, then?"

Garry shook his head.

Mary and two other girls began to return to their dressing rooms, leaving behind Lady. Ib spoke first. "Should we be getting ready?"

"Standing here is enough for now," Carrie replied. Ib nodded.

From backstage, they could hear a group of college boys and older men speaking. On cue, Carrie and Ib sighed. Garry chuckled. Dance music was faint in the background, and Garry tapped his foot to it for just a moment before it bored him to keep rhythm. Ib watched the floor, but in the vacant dark they could see Carrie looking through a crack in the curtain.

"They don't sound familiar," she said in a hushed voice.

"They don't," Garry agreed. Carrie strode towards the other side of the curtain. She and Lady greeted each other.

Ib sat in a chair beside Garry. It creaked slightly under her. "I'm tired."

Realizing she was trying to make small talk with him, Garry replied, "Did you not sleep well?"

"No, I did." She and Garry watched Carrie. He pitied her when he realized she was still bouncing on her toes, standing alone in the sliver of yellow light that leaked past the curtain.

"Have you been eating well?"

"If a strict diet of ramen means eating well."

"You are very thin."

"You sound like my mother." Her voice began to waver, and she stuttered over an apology. Garry cut her off gently.

"I almost forgot you were a college kid."

"I can still afford better food..." She looked a little embarrassed about her behavior, but she continued, "Do I not look the part?"

"You look like a high-schooler."

"I get that a lot."


	6. Night Three (Part 2)

_A/N: apologies for the long author's note _

_finally a shorter chapter WOO YEAH AND MY ANXIETY ATTACKS ARE BETTER THANKS FOR NOt asking o h_

_so im not quite sure how to go about this; i knew that i would be writing sex scenes before i even started writing this fic (GASP NO! BUT HE'S LIKE THyeah i dont care) but i only realized after uploading the first or second chapter of this fic that smut's off-limits on FFN now ughhhhhhHHHHH SO i either have to a) upload the scene and hope my fic isn't taken down, or b) censor it from the FFN version, BUT upload the full scene from AO3 (which will basically mean the fic goes from initiation to the following morning on here but it'll be graphic on the AO3 version which likely means the chapter numbers on FFN will likely not be the same as those on AO3 not that it will particularly matter) so? idk idk idk_

_that won't be happening for a few chapters though so SIT TIGHT! i hope you guys are liking it so far, a review would be super ultra cool (i've seen some of the stuff you guys have said about the fic on tumblr and i was honestly so flattered) _m(_ _)m

* * *

Garry learned over many years of experience and working with Carrie that he, as an announcer, was not always welcome on the floor. His presence, according to the dancers and his subconscious, cut off the customers' "train of thought". To this, there were always exceptions: new kids, suspicious characters, and other strange things. Ib could only be considered new for a few days, if Garry even cared to stay. Most regulars knew she was new, so Garry's presence was only partially welcome. Carrie, on the other hand, was not one of these exceptions.  
For the first five or six minutes of the first hour, the stage was hers and whoever else's.

Garry remembered this as he stepped out onto the stage, Carrie just across from him. Announcing Carrie was easy enough, since everyone knew her and she had the audacity to strut with confidence without introduction. She was funny without saying a word; she had skill and an ability to be emotive. She lost that air when she performed, though.

Ib had a childlike, naive air. Most people really liked her personality and the naive trope in general. She was a natural pro, too, although she could still play the part with innocence.

Mary teased and played her audiences. In short, she always seemed to be having fun. She was different from Ib in the sense that Ib had her own personal aura of innocence, but Mary was left to her own devices.

Garry let Carrie take over right after he introduced the show. She was fine, alone with her applause and cheering. Ib, as well as Lady and another girl, were waiting backstage. Ib sat alone while the others spoke. She didn't seem to be lonely; if anything, she was amused. Garry joined her side shortly. She adjusted her legs and looked up at him.

"Have fun?" She asked.

"A blast," He joked sarcastically.

"I don't feel like working tonight."

"Me either. Are you tired?"

"Yeah. I enjoy talking to you, though. Much better than being on stage. Not as much work."

He was somewhat flattered, but he wondered if flattery had been her intention. "I could say the same."

She smiled. "Two days ago, I was terrified of you."

"Huh?"

"I'm not good at talking to boys."

"You're a stripper."

"That I am, but dirty talking is different from small talk like this. But you're good at it."

"Small talk?"

"Yes. I was never very good at it."

"You seem to speak just fine. You were scared of me?"

She leaned on one arm of her chair, covering her mouth as she giggled. "You're just... really tall, okay? You were so scary..."

Garry was used to being called tall, but not scary. He scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't realize..."

She jumped up, trying to correct herself. "No, I'm sorry! That wasn't kind of me..."

"Do I have a scary face, too?"

She laughed at herself, and he could tell even in the dark that Ib was red in the face. "No, no, you... don't. You're..." She held what she was thinking on her tongue, "... you have a cute face! It might be because you're old..." She sat staring into the dark before she violently blinked out of her daze at the realization of what she had said. "No, no, I meant you're older! You're older than me!"

He stooped beside her and laughed. "I'm only twenty-nine!" He barked. She laughed with him, and the guilt seemed to fade from her laughter for a moment.

"That's ten years older than me, though!"

"At least I have a cute face in my weary, old age..."

She elbowed him, but he laughed and grabbed his sides.

"I'm sorry," She apologized, a smile still painted on her face, "I'll pay you back for that somehow."

* * *

He returned to the podium just as Carrie exited. He read off his paper before he spoke again: "Returning for our second act tonight..." Ib stepped out, the light not yet hitting her. He could hear her heels click softly, which suited her. The lights, alluring soft pinks and snow whites, bounced off her bare skin.

She stood like a movie star in one heated, loud, choreographed scene, stepping one foot perfectly in front of the other. Garry didn't want to speak for her; she could have just spoken for herself, kneeling in front of her already-regular college boys with negligent abandon. Her dark hair just brushed against her skin, but she only looked so much fairer under white light.

Garry stopped just as she passed the halfway-mark onto the thrust stage, no hand on her hip. Her hips swished just slightly, how she wanted it, her arms at her sides but moving with her momentum. She stepped in front of the crowd, her crowd, onto her knees, the heels of her hands, hair falling around her face. Garry watched her, a cold sweat washing over him, and he realized she did not understand her audience like he did, after so many years of experience.

She was already showing most everything she had. She accentuated every curve, every feature. She could dirty talk. She was utilizing it. She was right in knowing that this field was different from her small talks. Garry felt her, her audience, himself move ever so slowly, wanting to look away.

One of her regulars reached out and grabbed her wrist. Garry went hot and remembered the lights and the stuffy room.  
He couldn't leave then; it was his job to look nice and to intervene in an emergency and to watch. But, somehow, this was different.  
There was a lapse in movement as a man in the crowd laid his hand on Ib's breast, and even, if only for a moment, Ib froze with them. It was too loud as it was, but there was yelling across from Garry. They knew the rule: no grabbing the dancers on stage. Tips were different. Dollar bills were different. They were expected when she asked.

Ib continued as if nothing had happened.

* * *

There was another twenty minutes for Garry. Once all was said and done, He shed his vest behind the curtain and draped it behind a chair. It had been a short shift. He ran his fingers through his loose hair, and all five of the performers, chatting and pulling on their clingy form-fitting clothing, were completely oblivious; he was supposed to be there, anyway.

One of the girls opened the door for him, but he could see the sympathy on her face when the light hit her.

Carrie was standing outside her room, but it was too loud in the hallway to hear anyone beyond the door. Garry didn't care to in the first place. Carrie was visibly upset, tugging on her synthetic hair. She only saw Garry when he was right in front of her. She read his face for just a second and took his hand, draggin him behind her and away from the dressing room door; once she was out of earshot from the door, she turned to him.

"She's fine," She said, her head and voice low. Garry had assumed so. She watched her hands. "I feel bad."

"That's the job." Club rules were disobeyed week after week no matter how many people knew about them, but it was in the job description.

"It's always shitty the first time, though."

Garry felt no place to speak, for he had never been put in the same position; he could only imagine. "We can only hope she gets used to it."

"If it's worth the money, she'll stay." He remembered suddenly Carrie's testy attitude. He never agreed with her tendency to silently investigate people on her own, but he agreed nonetheless, as he usually did.

Her platinum blonde hair was tinted in blue, and it shined in the light. Her pearl necklace tinkled with every motion.

"How was she doing?"

She sighed, pouting a bit. "She kept telling me, y'know, she could go back out and work on the floor, but-"

"Okay."

"I have to go back on."

"Is someone taking over her spot?"

"Mary didn't mind." Carrie pulled on a loose thread and ripped it. "I think it was a way of paying her back for the dress." Garry didn't see it worth commenting on.

Carrie juggled the torn thread in her hands before she shook it out. She looked into space, and as Garry waited for her to finish her train of thought, she stepped past him. "Is your shift over?"

"Yes."

She began to walk back. Garry followed. "Will you stay with her?" She asked.

"If she wants me to."

She paused again before turning to him. "I have to work soon, so I can't watch her forever." Carrie knocked on her dressing room door, with no response. The door whined as she opened it. Garry stepped out of view as Carrie peeked inside.

"Can Garry come in?"

Garry didn't hear Ib's reply, but Carrie held open the door for him and stepped out of his way. He whispered a "thanks", and she nodded, ducking out of the doorway.

Ib had dressed back into her street clothes. She was sitting at Carrie's vanity, wiping off makeup with pads she pulled out of a carton. The spotlights on Carrie's mirror were still on, but someone had shut Ib's off.

Garry pulled a folding chair up and sat down next to her. She acknowledged him with a nod.

She straightened up suddenly, and under the cover of her bangs, she wiped her eyes with a rag. She had taken off most of her eye makeup; in contrast, she looked startlingly exhausted.

After a moment of examining herself, she put her head in her hands and groaned.

"I could've continued working, you know..."

Garry placed a hand on Ib's back. "I think Carrie was just worried about you."

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands. He realized that resting his hand on her was probably not comforting in the least, and he leaned back in his chair.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

"You know this isn't the last time it'll happen."

"I came into this job fully aware of its consequences," she sighed. "I really want to keep working."

"Maybe you should just take the night off, Ib."

She slouched. "But if I do, then-"

The dressing room door flew open, and Ib's inner turmoil radiated off of her as her and Garry's attention shot to the door.

Mary ran in with Rose in tow; Rose was visibly upset (moreso for being dragged along by Mary), but Mary's expression was one of sheer shock.

She was panting furiously, and her hair was disheveled.

"Are you alright, Ib?!" She roared.

"I'm fine." Ib was stunned.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Mary was breathless, and she leaned on her knees to catch her breath. "I ran back after my shift to check on you! I was so worried!"

Rose stood silently to the side, only vaguely concerned.

"I'm fine, really." Ib was casually trying to brush Mary off, but Mary clung on for dear life.

"I'm so sorry that happened, Ib!" Mary cried into Ib's chest. "Go home for the night and rest. You deserve it!"

"Really, it's okay."

"Garry, can you help Ib get her things together?"

Garry began, "Mary, I don't think..."

"It's whatever. I'll go home."

Garry and Mary turned to Ib, mouths agape. The room fell silent, but Ib didn't meet their gaze.

"If you want me to."

"That's the spirit!" Mary cheered, clapping her hands together. Garry watched as Rose shyly disappeared from the doorway. "Take a night off! You deserve it."

"Thank you, Mary." With faint color returning to her cheeks, Ib nodded to Mary with a small smile.

Mary clapped once and turned to Garry. "Now that that's all settled, I've got to run."

"Sorry to make you take my time slot."

Mary groaned, "Oh, Ib! Don't apologize for that!" She fell dolefully to Ib, squatting to meet her face. "It's no trouble! I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Ib nodded again, averting her gaze. Garry had observed the whole exchange from a few feet away.

The door shut behind Mary, and Ib's silence lingered overhead. Garry was the first to initiate a conversation.

"Are you alright, Ib?"

"Yeah." She stood up, smoothing out the back of her pleated skirt. She threw her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

With such a visible look of anguish painted on her face, Garry was struck with a pang of guilt. He wrung his hands together, ridding his palms of the residue left behind from standing under hot light, and he stood. "Please don't feel bad about leaving, Ib."

She turned her attention to him only for a moment, but her face was sullen.

Garry smiled pitifully. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "They care about you a lot."

Ib dazed for a moment, turning over the idea in her mind. She bit her lip before nodding. "You're right." She scoffed. "And Mary will get more tonight if she takes my time slot."

Garry laughed but his laughter faded as he found Ib wasn't reacting the same. Ib stared into him, and Garry gulped hard. She turned away from him with a wave of her hand. "See you later."

The color of Garry's face faded to a pallor. "See you."


	7. Night Five (Part 1)

_A/N: [me screaming about casual foreshadowing]_

_Also, Elvis._

* * *

Ib's fifth night on the job was a Thursday, and it rolled around before anyone saw it coming.

That Thursday, Garry was free from any deadlines or work he had outside of the club. Thursdays always felt like a break, despite having to work at Rosie's. It was an odd day to take a break, but Garry didn't mind.

He worked from home, auctioning things online in his spare time and illustrating most of the day. But deadlines had already drawn to a close, and for the entire Thursday afternoon he had to waste, he was bored out of his mind.

With the sun still high overhead, he drove down the freeway, freely dodging the traffic coming in from the city just as the office workers and businessmen were pouring back into the smaller town he had left behind for the night. On the bordering edge of both counties was Rosie's, its neon lights still shut off from the previous night.

Garry turned into the back alley, from pavement to gravel. The car rattled over the change in traction. He parked his car at the back entrance alongside the rear brick wall of the building. The car shut off, and he looped his keyring on his finger.

His car door squeaked open and slammed shut. The rubble turned under his boots, and he found parked under the trees, among a couple other cars, Ib's black VW.

Garry let the back door's weight close itself while he clocked in by the rear entrance. The hall lights overhead had all been turned on, but it was deathly quiet save for the ever-present air conditioning (that never really seemed to cool the building). Under the wide gap of Carrie's dressing room door, the lights hadn't been turned on.

Garry didn't bother with going in to check; the lack of light was indication enough. The faint piano score from beyond the front stage hit him, and he followed the sound.

He realized it was Elvis as the staff-entry door swung open and closed behind him.

_[ Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / 'Cause I can't help falling in love with you ]_

Ib was on the thrust stage, glistening with what was either lotion or sweat. Garry knew the song perfectly well, but dancing around a pole was not the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Elvis Presley.

_[ Like a river flows / Surely to the sea / Darling so we go / Some things were meant to be ]_

As the door closed behind him, Ib's movement stopped entirely when she turned to the sound. Her face was bare and without makeup.

_[ Take my hand / Take my whole li- ]_

Shocked at the presence of someone else, she dashed for the front edge of the thrust stage and fell to her knees, pausing the stereo. She stood up alertly and turned, pulling her hair behind her ear with one delicate swipe. She donned just a sports bra and spandex, typical practice gear. Both were black. Standing at attention, Garry could tell she was wearing lotion, but the sweat was beginning to wash it off.

"Did I interrupt something?" He joked, stepping closer to the table nearest to him.

"No, not at all!" A shot of adrenaline always made Ib much more emotive. She hopped off the thrust stage, grabbing the bottle she had left on the edge of the platform.

"Does the manager know you're here?"

"Yes." She was still panting from exertion.

Garry glanced around the room. "Did you get here early just to train yourself...?"

Ib shifted her weight and looked around with him. "Yeah, I've been doing it since I started working here, but I've missed a couple days." Indeed, there was a newer hint of muscle on her that Garry had hardly noticed. Again, she met his gaze. "Why are you here so early?"

"Boredom."

Ib smirked. "And so you came to work?"

Garry fidgeted. "I don't think that hard about these things."

She laughed, playing with the cap of her water bottle. "I guess not. Want me to keep you engaged?"

Garry laughed for a moment with her, almost scoffing. "You really don't have to."

"It's alright." She waved him off with the flick of her wrist. "I'm already tired, anyway."

Garry grinned and took the first step towards the back door.

The hall was still deserted, so they could take their time in the narrow corridor. "Don't you have a job or something?" Ib asked him, striding smoothly behind.

"I work from home, so I go at my own pace." Garry opened the door for the two of them, and Ib stepped ahead.

"What do you do for a living, then?" She dropped the bottle on a beanbag towards the back of the room and fell into the beanbag next to it.

"Ah, I illustrate," he began. He shut the door behind him and pulled up a stool. "I paint, too. Sometimes I do other things."

Ib straightened up. "What do you paint?"

"Portraits, mostly..." Garry started to turn various shades of red. "Sometimes just figures."

"Would you paint me?"

Garry stumbled over his words. "I mean... I make a living off of it, so-"

"Are you suggesting I wouldn't pay you?" Ib crossed her legs.

"No!" Garry bit his tongue. "It's just-"

Ib giggled. "I'll pay you."

Garry was scarlet. "I'll think about it."

There was a momentary pause. Garry pulled out a stool and sat.

"Don't you have classes right now?"

Ib's smile faded for only a moment before it returned. "Maybe."

"Ib, that's irresponsible!" Garry gasped. Ib only laughed.

"It'll be fine."

"You're an adult! You need to attend your classes!" The shock on Ib's face at his reaction to her carelessness stopped Garry in his tracks. "Getting here isn't your first priority."

"I guess you're right." Ib stood and moved to the wardrobe behind her; she swung it open and retrieved her dress, torn earlier in the week by Mary when she had tried to dress herself in it.

"What will you tell your parents if you start failing your classes?"

She grabbed the sewing kit at the bottom of the wardrobe before shutting its doors. "I won't fail my classes." She sat back down and draped the dress over her knees. The sewing kit popped open. "Were you implying I would have to tell my parents about my gig here?"

Garry crossed his arms. "Well..."

"They don't know that I'm here." Ib paused to thread a needle, unable to talk and do so at the same time. After the thread was through, she continued. "I'll give them another excuse if it happens." Her voice softened. She pulled herself out of the dent she'd made for herself in the beanbag and got on her knees to spread out the torn dress in her lap, inspecting its tears.

"Don't you think using a sewing machine would be easier?"

"Probably, but I don't want to borrow one. I won't buy myself one, either."

Garry lit a cigarette. "You have more than enough to buy one."

She put down the needle. "It's just..." She sighed. "You get- you get stingy with all that money. You don't want to give it to anyone." She ran a hand through her hair, and her bangs shifted awkwardly out of place. "My mom, she- I don't know what my parents will say if they- if they visit and I have all these things. I haven't borrowed any money from them; I keep telling them I can support myself, but they have no idea."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." She crossed her legs again. "That's how it is."

"Don't you ever worry about being expelled?"

"No."

Garry sighed. His cigarette was already burning to nothing. He smothered it in Carrie's ashtray. "I'll paint you."

Ib's train of thought broke and redirected itself to him. "What? Really?"

"Sure." He smiled, and Ib returned the gesture.

There was a knock at the dressing room door, and both Garry and Ib turned to it. Garry chimed, "Come in," and the door opened.

The manager stood in the threshold, waving a small stack of papers in his hand. He was already physically exerted from walking from the parking lot to the dressing room, as he was a burly, older man. Garry and Ib grinned at him, and he smiled back.

Still trying to find his composure, he began. "These are for you, Garry," he said, waving the papers at him for emphasis. The boss stepped inside with the papers outstretched to Garry, and he casually took them, still sitting.

The boss turned to Ib, and she straightened to attention. "Did you get a good workout in, sweetheart?"

Her face lit up and she nodded in reply. "I did!"

He seemed to perk up again. "Wonderful!" Garry read the schedules to distract himself from the conversation.

"Thank you for letting me use the stage."

"Of course, sweetie. You can use it whenever you'd like." He turned to Garry. Garry was deep into the papers; the boss nodded wordlessly, understanding. "I'll leave you two to your work."

Ib watched his back as he left and shut the door.

"You're performing with Mary?" Garry interjected.

Ib redirected her attention. "I am?"

He held the paper out to Ib's view. "Apparently so." Ib scanned the paper for a moment before huffing.

"Huh." Looking over the dress again, Ib had lost the motivation to continue and pushed the dress and needle to the side. "How many times will I be on after that?"

Garry looked over the paper again. "Well... the act with Mary is the last one of the night, and we close at one." He pulled his bangs out of his face and squinted. "You only have one other act tonight, it looks like. You're fourth in line."

Ib stood, stretching her arms above her head. Garry gave her a moment. "I guess I'll be feeling old man erections on my inner thigh for the rest of the night."

Garry cringed. Ib smirked when she noticed.

"At least you're not the one doing it." She had a point. "Besides, more tips."

* * *

It was only after ten minutes of willpower to work and another hour and a half of hard sewing labor that Ib was able to finish repairing the dress. It didn't look the same as it once had, but it had been salvaged to the best of her ability.

Another hour passed before the third person arrived. Carrie had curled her shoulder-length hair, of which she had dyed that morning. It was a pale pink, a color she had done before. She looked good in any color, but it was her particular favorite.

"It would be such a waste to wear a wig tonight," she huffed, sitting down on a stool beside Garry.

"You don't have to wear a wig," Garry added.

Carrie sighed. "I suppose not." She paused. "Does it look okay?"

"You look incredible."

"Aww, Garry, you're the best!" She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. Garry endured it. "Where's the schedule?"

Garry reached out for it, restricted by Carrie's grip. He managed to grab it and hand it to her. She released him and took the stapled papers.

It took her a moment of looking over them, Ib and Garry anticipating her voice all the while, until she spoke again.

"Only three times on tonight, it looks like." She set the papers down on the counter behind her and began unbuttoning her blouse. Ib was still in her sports bra and spandex, so she stood from the beanbag and turned to the clothes rack to get herself dressed.

"Getting dressed so soon?" Garry asked; the question had been directed to Carrie.

"Why not?" Carrie unbuttoned her cuffs before pulling her blouse down. Underneath was a white tank top. "I have makeup to put on."

"You still have a couple hours."

Carrie dropped the tank top on the floor. Ib had managed to peel her bra off, but she was facing the other way to stay out of Garry's view.

"I don't see why I should wait when I could just get it over with," she continued.

"Well, alright."

There was silence as the two girls wormed their way out of their clothes. In the corner, Ib taped pasties down. When she had finished doing so, she turned. Garry hadn't noticed.

"What are you wearing today, Carrie?" He inquired. Carrie appreciated the question, sliding her bra off of her shoulders.

"Not heels tonight. Going barefoot sounds like a much better idea. Maybe I'll wear some beads."

"Sounds good."

Through the whole exchange, Garry hadn't glanced down. To Ib, it was a huge shock, but nevertheless amusing.

Carrie retrieved her supply of pasties from a drawer behind her. She knew the room so well that she didn't even turn around to open the drawer. Ib made her way around the beanbags and stools to Mary's vanity. Although it had been almost a week since Ib had begun working there, she was still required to share a mirror.

"Oh, God," Carrie gasped. Ib and Garry turned to her.

"What's wrong?" Garry asked.

"Tomorrow's fetish night."

"What's the problem?" Ib interrupted. There was a brief expression of shock on her face, but Garry quickly jumped in.

"She _hates_ fetish night," He answered back, leaning over as he emphasized the word "hate". "Which reminds me, what are you doing for tomorrow?"

"I always tell Mr. White that bondage is my best suit, but Mary always gets it." She rolled her eyes; it was the first display of direct annoyance by Carrie towards Mary that Ib had seen. "I always get bunny ears."

"You make a good bunny."

"Thanks, Garry." It was almost sarcastic in tone, but Carrie meant it. She turned to Ib. "How about you, Ib? What do you want to do?"

"Spanking."

It was so on-point that both Garry and Carrie were instantly taken aback.

"You didn't waste any time with that one," Carrie smirked. Ib realized the fact suddenly and went scarlet. Garry tried not to laugh.

"It just seemed obvious to me… I was thinking of school."

"No, I understand what you mean," Carrie reassured her. Ib seemed to relax when she thought Carrie was on her side. "It's perfect for you."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, of course!" Carrie was almost excited about the idea. "I mean, you are in school right now, after all."

Ib nodded, but even Garry could tell she was still painfully embarrassed.


	8. Night Five (Part 2)

_A/N: Short and sweet chapter, but it took so long._

_Get excited for what comes next._

* * *

It took an hour for Mary to arrive, and she panicked under the stress of getting dressed in under thirty minutes, as she always did. After a brief discussion, it was confirmed that, yes, Mary had the job of bondage fetishes on Friday and, yes, Carrie was very upset.

It took a few minutes to pull everyone together to leave the room before Mary stopped all three of her co-workers.

She looked at Garry from across the room. "Hey, can you and Carrie go ahead? Pretty please?" She clapped her hands together and winked. "I need to talk to Ib for a second."

The idea took a moment for Garry to register. "Alright." He mumbled at Carrie to follow, and they left without another word.

Once the two of them were out of earshot, Mary spoke. "Do you like Garry?"

Ib went wide-eyed. "Huh?"

"You know… would you date him? Or is he just a friend to you?"

"I haven't thought about him like that, Mary."

Mary looked suddenly sad, and Ib's brows knitted together. Mary pried some more. "Would you, though? You two would look so good together."

"Mary, we have to go-"

_"Answer the question!"_

Ib flinched. Mary's expression twisted into a wry smile. "Would you?"

"It's against my contract."

"Oh, contract-shmontract!" She laughed, waving her hand. "My daddy owns this place. He can't touch you."

Ib had a bad taste in her mouth.

"Besides, we're friends right?"

"Of course."

"Alright!" Mary cheered, clapping her hands for grating applause. "Keep this conversation between you and me, okay?"

"Of course." Ib didn't dare mention the fact Garry was a full ten years older. She didn't need the backlash again, after all.

* * *

Ib's outfit that night was much less extravagant than usual; she donned a mini-skirt that couldn't have been more than six inches from waistband to hem, as well as a small bikini top, covering only what it needed to. Mary and Ib's outfits were relatively similar, save from their differing patterns and colors. It was generally assumed that they had coordinated their outfits, which was true.

Garry was the temporary disc jockey that night, as he always was, running the computerized jukebox playlist from behind the scenes. All the while, Carrie would come backstage at frequent intervals to keep him company and bother him, which thoroughly entertained him.

It was clear to him, though, as he watched from behind the curtain that Ib was not her usual self. There was a way she moved with a certain lethargy that was almost alarmingly obvious, but the rest of the crowd was so absorbed that anyone hardly noticed. To them, she was her usual self. Ib's brief conversation was subconsciously clawing at the back of her mind, but she hardly noticed that it was affecting her.

Mary, on the other hand, was fantastic. As usual.

It was a shorter night than usual; Thursdays were not the most popular nights for strip clubs, after all. Only until 12am rolled around did the last of all four of them, fully dressed, re-enter the main hub of activity- Carrie and Mary's dressing room. Garry had worked the first and last hours of the night, with room in between to watch his friends work. Mary had already left by the time Garry was up for his last shift, so she was absent from the room. Her absence went, frankly, largely ignored.

Garry entered just as Carrie was leaving, and Carrie made sure he knew.

"I was just on my way out," she informed him, bringing him into a hug. Her cotton scarf was wrapped tight around her neck, and her purse hung beside her waist. In turn, it was very evident that she was in the process of leaving. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gare-bear." Her voice was softer next to his ear, though she was much shorter than him and could just barely reach the side of his face. Ib was the same.

Only after Carrie had softly closed the door behind her did Garry fully register Ib's presence at her typical spot in front of the mirror.

She had wiped her makeup nearly clean off already. She was just as pretty with it than she was without, but she only wore it for work. She had changed already into her sheer blouse and pink tulle skirt.

"How's it going with you?" Garry chimed in.

"Fine," she replied plainly. It was very obvious she was focused on getting her job done as quickly as possible. Garry didn't take much offense.

When she had finished, Ib threw the rags away. "Sorry about that," she apologized, suddenly self-aware. Garry stood up, and Ib did the same, smoothing out the back of her skirt and adjusting the waist. She brushed stray hair out of her face.

"I'll walk you out, then."

"Can I ask you something first?"

The statement caught Garry off-guard, but he obliged. "Alright."

Abruptly, Ib became very hesitant before she spoke up. "I was wondering if you could paint me tomorrow, but… I wasn't sure if, maybe, that was too soon."

It didn't take Garry very long to turn the idea in his mind. "I'm not doing anything tomorrow, so… sure."

"Would it be alright to stay over tonight, or… is that pushing my boundaries?"

That was more of a shock, but Garry didn't want to let it show. His reply took longer to formulate, but he managed. "No, that's fine with me. If you really want to."

A faint color returned to her face; Garry hadn't realized it ever left until the pink in Ib's cheeks was brighter.

"Want me to follow you back?"

"Yeah, sure." Somehow, he seemed almost happy about the idea. Although still recovering from the embarrassment of asking, Ib was pleased with herself.

She took Garry's hand and followed him out.

* * *

Ib parked her car alongside Garry's. She rolled down her window as Garry approached, having already left his car to guide Ib up to his apartment.

"It's okay that I'm parking here, right?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course."

With a smile, Ib rolled her window back up and unlocked her door. She stepped out and locked it again with her keys.

"Alright," she affirmed, nodding to Garry. He took the gesture as confirmation to walk ahead, and he did so.

Garry struggled with his key ring before finding the key to his apartment. He wasn't used to his new set since he'd changed the lock a week ago, but he managed.

His apartment was as ordinary as any other, Ib found as Garry swung the door open and let Ib take his lead. White drywall, white counters, white carpet. It had more furniture than hers, which she expected. It was a very warm, welcoming space, despite it being very dark.

Garry turned on the light in the foyer, but even with it the den and surrounding dining room and kitchenette were nearly pitch-black. Ib pried her ballerina flats off of her heel and dropped them on the tile in the entryway.

Her feet met carpet as she entered the living room. Garry was still struggling to unlace his boots in the threshold. Ib heard him grunt and turned, struggling not to giggle at the sight of him attempting to yank the shoes off of his ankles.

Once he had them off, he sighed, out of breath even from the simple act of taking his shoes off. "Home sweet home," he breathed, just loud enough for Ib to hear from a few yards away. Garry couldn't help but think that he _really_ needed new shoes, but he tried to dismiss the thought.

"I like your apartment," Ib commented, plopping herself down on the couch. "It's quaint. You don't smoke in here, do you?"

"No, I don't," He replied. He put his hands on his hips, glancing around the room. Ib only watched him.

"Seems kinda big for just you, though." There was no denying it was definitely more than a space for one person to live on his own.

"Yeah, well…"

"Don't you have, I don't know, a girlfriend or something?"

Garry only laughed. It wasn't an outrageous thought, but he had every right to laugh at the idea. "I work at a strip club. Not a lot of people appreciate that."

It became suddenly so obvious to Ib that working at Rosie's was, in fact, a social stigma and not something most people did. "Is that it?"

"You'd be surprised." Garry walked across the room and sat down a few feet away. He pulled his feet up onto the couch. Ib hesitated before doing the same, hoping that she wouldn't come off as rude to him.

"I don't know, I just figured someone would be able to get over it."

The whole idea was thought-provoking to Garry, but somehow enjoyable. "Again, you'd be surprised."

The events of the previous night played again in Ib's mind.

_"Would you date him? Or is he just a friend to you?"_

Ib couldn't wrap her mind around it. He was really nice and alarmingly pretty at his age (almost relatively androgynous), but the idea was foreign. She couldn't imagine. "Just a friend" fit the definition much better.

"Oh, where can I sleep?" Ib asked. She wasn't necessarily tired just yet; she had worked late enough to earn herself a burst of fatigue-induced energy.

"Oh!" There was a partition separating a hallway at the front of the room from the den. Garry pointed to it, and Ib's eyes followed. "There's a room on the far left. You can sleep there. It should be clean." He was almost doubtful about the tidiness of the room, and it made Ib think.

"Is it your room?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Shouldn't you sleep there?"

Garry rubbed his neck out of habit. "No, I can sleep here. You're my guest, after all…!" Ib's face tightened with frustration, but Garry interrupted her before she could argue. "I insist."

Ib almost retaliated, but she realized she had probably caused him enough trouble, after all. "Alright," she sighed, crossing her arms. "Thank you."

She stood from the couch and made her way to the back room.

"Good night!" Garry called from the living room. Ib turned just in time to see him flash her a smile before she walked out of his sight and into the room.


	9. Night Six (Part 1)

It was only 7 a.m. when Ib was woken up to the sound of a clatter outside her door. Waking up was disorienting enough with unidentified noise beyond her door before she realized the door and bedroom were not hers. It came to her quickly that it was Garry's room. The pillows had already begun to smell like her perfume, though.

A few minutes passed before she was able to pull herself up from the sheets. It was dark in the room, but morning light was just coming in through the window as the sun was rising. The digital clock on the nightstand next to the blinded window read "7:12 A.M." in its blocky green letters against black.

She wondered, then; was Garry cooking breakfast?

Her skirt had been wrinkled from tossing and turning in her sleep. She had worn it to bed, which probably wasn't the best idea. Her undershirt fit comfortably enough, and it had kept her bra from showing through her blouse the night before.

Pulling herself out of bed, a scent hit her, and she realized it was, in fact, Garry cooking in the kitchenette. She tried not to laugh as she pulled her skirt down mid-thigh and smoothed it out the best she could.

The old door creaked open on its hinges, and Garry heard it over the hissing sound of him pouring mixed pancake batter into a pan.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" He asked. He was still in the clothes he had worked in the night before.

"No," Ib replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes once more. Garry knew it was probably a lie, but he took the answer.

Ib's stomach growled. She could feel hunger pains coming on, and it smelled good in the room.

"I have a pancake already done if you want it." Garry gestured to a plate to his left; sure enough, a pancake was sitting on a plate just as he had said.

Had Garry really heard her stomach growl?! Ib guessed it had been a coincidence as she reached for the plate and took the food for herself. Garry smiled at her.

"Thank you," she murmured, bowing her head. Garry nodded, poking at the half-cooked pancake in front of him with his spatula.

"There's syrup in the cabinet next to the fridge," Garry said, peeling the pancake from the pan. He flipped it over. "Do you want butter?"

"No, that's alright," she shook her head, opening the cabinet above her. She plucked a bottle of maple syrup from an array of other cans and boxes of food.

"The forks are under you."

"Oh, okay." She pulled open the drawer she had leaned against. She grabbed herself a metal fork, something she hadn't seen in a while; she was all too used to her plastic store-bought forks.

She pulled a chair out and sat down at the dining table. She popped open the cap to the syrup bottle sitting in front of her. Behind her, she could hear batter sizzling and Garry scratching at the pan with a spatula.

It felt somehow so natural to be moving around his apartment and eating his food, though she had only walked in and slept. The apartment wasn't all that warm and welcoming, but Ib had already grown used to it. It would be a working environment soon, though. She ate quickly.

Garry slid into the seat in front of Ib, a plate in his hands. He had two pancakes stacked up on his plate. Ib watched him sit down, looking up from her food. With her cheeks stuffed and syrup nearly dripping out of the corner of her mouth, Garry couldn't help but laugh.

"Do you want any more?" He asked playfully.

Ib stabbed at the last bite of her breakfast, gulping down what she had chewed. "No, I'm fine."

Garry bit his tongue, realizing the offence she'd taken. "Are you sure? I can make more."

"I'll stick with one." She finished her meal and stood, taking the plate with her.

Garry's eyes followed her as she walked to the sink. The faucet began running water, and Garry grabbed absently at the open syrup bottle in front of him.

* * *

Garry's hall closet was surprisingly clean, but it went so far back that it still took him ages to find a portrait canvas to work on that was the right size. He shuffled through clothes and boxes of art supplies until, after a minute of digging, he pulled out a decent white canvas.

Ib had been wondering how a man his age had kept his apartment so tidy, but she didn't ask about it. Garry inspected the canvas, plucking dirt and dust from its surface. "This'll be fine," he murmured to himself, closing the closet door with his foot.

He led Ib into the back room of the apartment, a room Ib had yet to see. With the canvas in one hand, he opened the door. The smell of acrylics and wood hit Ib hard, but Garry had grown so used to the smell that he simply ignored it.

A tripod easel was set up towards the back of the room, the floor around it lined by a blue plastic tarp. Both were splattered in places with paint but were mostly clean. There were tupperware containers and cups of pens and brushes scattered around the floor, some labeled with sharpies or stickers.

In front of the easel stood a wooden chair, an apron draped across its back. A stool stood just behind the empty easel frame.

"Have you done this before?" Ib asked. She stepped closer to the easel, and the plastic tarp crumpled under her bare feet.

"A few times, yes." Garry positioned the canvas. He turned around and bent down, grabbing a few jars of acrylic paint from an array. "I don't do it very often, though."

"Why not?"

"I don't have enough free time or enough models." He moved the paint jars next to the foot of his chair.

"I hope I'm not taking up your working time…" Ib hesitated in front of the plush stool.

He shook his head, still collecting his medium. "No, you're not! I wouldn't have agreed to it if you were." He dusted off his hands and gestured to the other seat. "You can sit down."

"Oh, okay." She tucked her wrinkled skirt under her lap and sat. The stool was cushioned, but she knew her back would start to hurt after a while of sitting there, that was for sure.

Under the legs of an easel was another plastic box full of black wooden brushes, well-cleaned, but the wood was smudged with paint.

"Do you want me to paint you in what you're wearing?" Garry asked her, sliding the box out from under the easel. "You wore a blouse yesterday."

"Would you prefer me wearing a blouse?"

"It's your decision."

Ib raked her fingers through her bangs, still stringy. She realized the condition of her hair when she felt it. "I can, but I think I should take a shower before this. I haven't even looked in the mirror, really."

"Oh! Okay."

"Is that alright?" Was asking to shower in his bathroom imposing? Ib wasn't sure.

"Of course! There are towels under the sink."

Ib stood. "It's really okay?"

"Absolutely!" Her cautiousness was almost amusing to him. He was tying his paint-stained apron behind his neck, smiling at her from under his fallen bangs.

"Okay, I'll be back." She pushed herself up and turned, walking out of the room.

Ib tried to find her sense of direction as she walked out into the den. She guessed the bathroom was next to his bedroom, so she made her way across the floor. Opening the door revealed linoleum counters and white wood. Definitely the bathroom, she confirmed.

The tile was cold under her feet, and she cringed at the feeling under her as she walked in. She flipped the light switch, illuminating the bathroom. It was clean, not something she had expected to see. It wasn't as cramped as hers, but he certainly kept it in order, something that wasn't in-character for a single guy at his age. She didn't dwell on it for very long.

She opened the bottom cabinets to find a stack of white towels. Why was everything white? She grabbed one and set it on the edge of his sink.

She stripped and folded the clothes on the counter. It was already freezing while she pulled the last of her clothes off. Goosebumps began to rise on her skin.

* * *

A hot shower was heavenly, especially in December. The water stung her back, and the feeling was almost relieving.

Watching her feet, she let the water wash over her, taking with it the sweat and grime of last night's work. It felt good to shampoo the grease out of her hair and clear her pores in the heat.

She longed to stay in, hesitantly shutting off the water. Left behind was the steamy mirrors and wet tub, and the cold that hit her as she stepped out was unbearable.

It would take her a while to dry her hair, she knew. She wondered what Garry was doing. She scrubbed the water out of her hair with the towel she had left for herself, bent over awkwardly to keep the water off of her skin.

She dressed herself into what she had been wearing that morning and opened the bathroom door again. The cold rushed in from the main room, and Ib shivered. The heat escaped much quicker than it had come.

She searched under the counter for a hair dryer, but struggled. Garry's hair was long, but maybe not long enough for a hair dryer. Ib worried for a moment that he wouldn't have one in the first place before she found one, pressed up against the back of the cabinet.

The dryer whirred as she combed her fingers through her hair, the hot wind taking her hair with it.

A few minutes had passed before her hair was dry all around. Her hair had always been thick, so drying it was such a chore.

She peeked out into the adjoining hall and den. Garry wasn't in sight. He must've stayed in his workshop the whole time, she thought.

Ib went into the bedroom. Her blouse was laying there on the ground where she had left it. It was slightly wrinkled, but not by much. She slid into it.

Garry was in his chair cleaning brushes when Ib returned. An eerie quiet surrounded the room until the tarp on the floor crunched under Ib's feet, and Garry's daze snapped.

"Did I take long?" Ib asked.

"No, not at all." Garry set the thin brush down on the easel. "You ready?"

Ib nodded. A nervous smile began to form on her face.

She took a seat on the cushioned stool, shifting her weight to make herself comfortable. She prepared herself by pulling her hair out of her face and straightening her blouse.

"Wait... here." Garry rose and walked over to her. He took a lock of her hair in his hands and brought it along her cheek. He adjusted her bangs.

Garry backed away experimentally, hovering to see how she looked from afar.

"Turn your head this way." He jabbed his thumb to her left, and she turned just slightly.

"Lift your head a little." When she did, he beamed. "Perfect!" Garry clapped his hands and backed away to his seat. He took a block of charcoal and moved his hand up to the canvas.

Ib's eyes darted around the room. In the first place, she had no idea where to look. Garry seemed to notice; he stretched out his left hand and snapped his fingers. Ib looked at him, almost flinching.

"Look down for me," he said. He had held his hand out low, and her eyes followed. "There you go."

Instruction was all she needed, and she tried not to smile as Garry eagerly sketched the outline of Ib's face.

* * *

"Truth or dare?"

Garry hesitated. "Umm…" Ib's eyes sparkled, seemingly egging him on. "Fine! Dare."

She grinned mischievously. "Drink cold soup out of a can."

"Gross! What the hell?"

"You wanted a dare!" Ib was giggling furiously.

"I don't even have a can of soup!"

It had taken thirty minutes for the two of them to move from the workshop to the living room floor. It had been Ib's idea to play truth or dare, something she hadn't done in years. Neither particularly wanted to quit after they started.

"Lick the bottom of your shoe."

"You're so gross," Garry groaned, but he stood up from the floor, walking over to the foyer. Ib could only cackle maniacally as he trudged his way across the room.

"Lick it! Lick it!" She chanted, shaking her fists.

Garry grabbed the boot by the tongue.

"Don't be a wimp! Put your whole tongue over it!"

Cringing, he looked at the bottom of the boot. It was clean, although scuffed in areas. He located the cleanest spot and took a quick lick.

"Ew!" Ib screamed, still laughing at him.

"You dared me to do it!" Garry retaliated, dropping the boot on the tile.

"I know, it's just so gross!" She cried, beaming from ear to ear.

Garry returned to the middle of the den, sitting down with his legs crossed on the carpet. "Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?"

"I can't trust you with a dare after that. Truth."

"What was your first high school relationship like?"

Ib giggled. "I didn't have one."

"Are you serious?" Garry's mouth hung open, and Ib timidly shook her head. The look on Garry's face was the only thing Ib needed to keep her entertained, but she tried not to smile at him.

"Yeah. No one asked me out, so I never dated." Ib shrugged, pouting. "It wasn't worth it."

"Wow."

Garry was completely absorbed, so Ib changed the topic seamlessly. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth. I don't want another dare like yours."

"Boring!" She booed. "What do you think about me?"

"What do I think about you?" Garry repeated, taking in the question. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking about his answers. "Well… you're sweet, I guess…"

"I guess," Ib murmured, teasing him inwardly.

"You have a great smile." Ib covered her mouth when she felt herself starting to smile again. Garry noticed and scoffed. "You're cute, too."

"Aw, gee." Ib's cheeks were pink.

"Truth or dare?" Garry continued.

"Truth."

"Are you excited for fetish night?"

"A little bit, I guess." Ib smirked and shrugged again. "Truth or dare?"

"Um…"

"I have a great dare," She egged him on.

"Fine!" He gave in. "Give me your 'great' dare."

"Date me."


	10. Night Six (Part 2)

_A/N: I hate author's notes, but one is necessary this time around. _

_A full ten chapters! Look how far we've come! To be honest, I didn't think we could do it! You guys are gonna be SO excited for the next chapter, I just know it._

_As always, reviews are super duper awesome and very appreciated! x_

* * *

Watching Mary struggle to fit into thigh high boots was nothing short of entertaining. It was a delight to Garry, certainly, but he didn't let it show.

But it was Ib's presence in the room that had Garry nearly sweating. She wormed her way into a knife-pleated, plaid miniskirt, facing the wall. It seemed that, even when she was turned away, she could read Garry's mind. For once, Garry was_ terrified_ of her.

There wasn't much Garry could say about the idea of a date with Ib besides the truth that laid in the back of his mind: the idea of a date was eliciting feelings he never could have expected, especially when the date consisted of him and Ib.

And there she was, her cute, nearly-naked little bottom slipping its way into a tiny skirt. It felt like she was rubbing it in. Garry's head was throbbing.

_Think about geometry. Old men. Anything but her._

She had never been the idea of a romantic partner to Garry, so why was it happening now? Because she had spoken up about a date? Now, her getting changed in front of him was so much more than a part of his job.

"Garry, zip me up," Mary commanded, her back turned. On reflex, Garry zipped up the skin-tight garment. It was mint green and hugged every curve. _This _was routine. _This _was the job he could handle. Mary walked away without another word to finish her business.

"That looks _so _uncomfortable," Carrie groaned, pulling up the sweetheart line of her bunny suit. She turned to Garry in a similar fashion. "Is my bunny tail drooping?" She pawed at it with her hand.

"Fine as always."

"Thank God. I haven't worn this suit in ages." She brushed dirt off of the strapless suit, admiring herself in the mirror. Confirming that everything looked alright, she sat down, teasing her hair in front of the mirror.

_"Date you?" He scoffed, but she was all too serious to be joking. "Ib, you know that's never going to work out."_

_ "Maybe not, but I dared you."_

_ "_And _it's against my job contract to-"_

_ "It's just a date." She smiled. "No strings attached."_

_ "Fine."_

Mary snapped her fingers at him. "Hey, we go on soon."

"Yeah, I know."

She was nearly pouting. "You two have been very quiet."

The whole room focused its attention on her. Garry couldn't think of a way to respond.

"Sorry," Ib interrupted. "I was getting ready, so…" Her voice trailed off.

It really was a terrible excuse, but it was enough for Mary; she sat down beside Garry and crossed her arms, her boots squeaking against each other as she crossed her legs.

* * *

For months, every act had the same time slot and the same routine, so nothing surprised Garry when Friday rolled around. Problem was, Ib hadn't performed on fetish night yet. She had been squeezed into one long slot, which was how it was for everyone else.

Garry had the last half of the night, a shift he loathed but could pull himself through. And Ib was one of the last acts. Second to last.

The night seemed to trudge on while he waited with Ib until, halfway through the night, Garry left Ib and Carrie in their dressing room; Mary was still waiting for her time slot to arrive, and she planned on staying out on the floor for her "fans" right after.

Garry met her backstage, where she was standing, tugging at her clothes. Out of her peripheral vision, Mary could see him coming closer.

"I hate this," she whined, adjusting the front of the suit. There was a long, vertical slit running from her chest to her stomach, where a stretch of her stomach was visible. The outline of her breasts peeked out from the top.

"Didn't you sign up for it?" Garry scoffed.

Mary was suddenly so malicious. "It's better than that stupid bunny shit. No one likes that crap."

"I think it's kinda cute."

Mary rolled her eyes. "You sound like my old man." She was obviously in a sour mood. Garry left her alone.

The announcer before Garry, his coworker, returned from the stage. On cue, Garry and Mary stepped forward. Mary prepped herself and made her way to the opposite side of the curtain. She watched Garry as he stepped out to the low-sitting podium, and she followed.

"Are you enjoying the show?" Garry chimed into his mic.

The crowd cheered.

"Oh, but we've hardly begun! You see, Miss Mary's been _very _naughty lately…" The words were sour as they rolled off his tongue, but Mary played along like always.

That was all Garry had to say before Mary was on her way and the men in the crowd were hooting and hollering. He ducked behind the black curtain.

A few girls were waiting in their chairs, only acquaintances of Garry. He couldn't name any of them, but he had never been good with names in the first place. In the meantime, Garry went on inspecting the playlist looping on the PA system.

* * *

The end of the night drew on until it hurt for Garry to stand, but with no place to sit, he sat on the floor behind the curtain between shifts. He wasn't really _allowed _to sit, but no one would care.

And then Ib entered through the backstage door, wearing a private school uniform cut way too short and way too low. A striped tie dangled from her neck, and pink lace peeked out from under the low, gray blazer she wore. She had white legwarmers on, baggy at the ankles. The loafers she wore were black and polished.

Her hips wagged as she walked towards him. Her skirt had hardly enough length to swish.

"Tired?" She joked at the sight of him sitting on the dirty floor. He stood as she said it, although the pain lingered still.

"God, yes," He groaned, steadying himself.

"Me too." She pulled up a legwarmer that had started to roll down her calf.

The two of them were quiet for a moment. Neither had time to break the silence before the audience behind the curtain began applauding. Garry, already standing, dashed out onto the stage. Ib's loafers thumped against the floor as she ran over to her side of the stage, waiting for the word from Garry to enter onto the stage.

"What a doll," Garry purred. "Unfortunately, ladies and gentlemen, our night is nearly coming to an end..." the crowd groaned, "... but-! we have two more lovely ladies for you tonight." The cheering returned. "Our lovely little Ib needs to be punished..."

Garry's presence on the stage was replaced by Ib. Garry returned to the dark of the black box.

"You really have a talent for announcing," a girl behind him hummed. Garry turned to find the last performer of the night, a girl dressed as a cat. A blue collar, topped with a round bell, hung from her neck. Garry couldn't tell who it was through the wig and makeup.

"Thank you. Your whiskers look fantastic."

They had been applied with liquid latex, surely, but the makeup had been smoothed so well they appeared to be part of her skin. She twisted at the whiskers and managed to muster a small "thanks."

There was a small crack in the curtain where Garry had exited. Outside, he could just barely see Ib.

She had her back turned towards the audience, a wooden ruler in her hand. Garry hadn't noticed it before. It took a few moments of connecting the dots to figure out she had hidden the ruler in the legwarmer she had adjusted before going on.

She dragged the ruler up her thigh, lifting up the hem of the plaid skirt until a sliver of her pink, ruffled panties peeked out. It didn't take long for the crowd to get worked up.

Gently, Ib patted the back of her upper thigh a few times before she brought the ruler down hard with a resounding smack. The audience went crazy. Ib had hardly flinched.

She unlooped her tie and lazily swung it around at her side a few times before throwing it into the crowd. A frat boy caught it and tied it around his neck. Ib winked at him.

She got down on her knees, holding the wooden ruler against her bum with both hands. She sat on her feet and the ruler.

Ever so slowly, she began to unbutton the blazer. Her crowd realized so and shouted with the growing tension.

Garry felt himself wanting to look away again. Nothing bad was particularly happening. She was doing her job.

But this was not poetry to him anymore. This was a hundred eyes on her naked skin, and those included his gray ones, pink and sunken from fatigue. As he watched the crowd, thinking about how disgusting it must be for them to be fawning over this girl, a ninteen-year-old college student dressed up as a preteen.

The truth dawned on him that he was one of them now.

He pulled his attention away from her, watching the barely-visible floor beneath him. The cat girl to his right hadn't noticed him.

One smack. Another. Garry watched again. Ib's blazer laid on the stage behind her. She stood tall in the light in a lacy pink bra, miniskirt, and footwear, a clean red mark emblazoned on the underside of her ass.

It was over. She plucked her blazer up from the ground. Garry nearly stumbled onto the stage, but Ib was at the mic before him.

"Hold on to that tie for me, love," she cooed. And then she was off.

_"The truth is, I've been thinking about the things Mary has said to me," Ib began. "I really thought about it."_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ Ib sighed, pushing words from her throat. "I don't want to say that I love you, because I haven't known you long enough to say 'you mean the world to me' to your face."_

_ Garry was silent._

_ "I love the idea of you and me. There, I said it."_

* * *

Ib was sitting in her beanbag, wearing her street clothes: a blouse and skirt. She had her phone in her hand and was tapping away as Garry entered, exhausted from work and red in the face. He had dressed himself after the show, but Ib waited in the dressing room for him to return. He came to find the room was empty; both Mary and Carrie had left for the night.

"Hey," Garry greeted Ib, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

She dropped her phone hurriedly. "Hi," she beamed. "How'd I do?"

"Uh, good," he affirmed. Ib met the comment with rosy cheeks.

"God, your whole face is red." The comment didn't help the fact, and Garry could feel the blush spread to his chest. "What's wrong?"

"It's just really hot out there," he lied through his teeth, loosening the collar of his shirt. "You really did great tonight." He stepped forward and pulled her up from the seat. She was still inches shorter than him even with her heels on.

"Thanks," she said, smoothing out the back of her skirt. She tugged up her thigh high socks. "Shall we?"

She was so full of energy, despite having performed with so much effort. She was not herself. "We shall," Garry agreed, still red in the face.

Ib had never been an excitable or loud person, but then and there, she seemed to be. There wasn't much that could be said about Ib other than the fact that, under a facade of enthusiasm, a nervousness lingered.


	11. Night Six (Part 3)

The crash of a picture frame on Garry's nightstand resounded through the room, but neither Ib nor Garry acknowledged the sound. Nothing would break the two of them apart, especially since Garry already had his tongue down her throat.

Garry had his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close, and through the chaos he wondered how Ib had managed to break a picture frame. On the other hand, she was frenzied, excited to have him laying on his back in front of her. The thought of the two of them regretting any of it wasn't even an idea.

The bed sunk and whined under the weight of Ib pressing her hand and knees into the comforter and mattress. Her hair hung around her face, nearly brushing the bed and Garry. She pulled it all to one side. The corners of Garry's mouth were smeared with red lipstick. Ib giggled at the sight.

"What is it?"

"I got lipstick on you."

"Oh, yeah?"

Ib could feel every inch of her pressed against Garry when she brought her lips to his. A tremor racked through her hands as she pulled her fingers through his hair, looping his gelled curls through her fingers.

They became aware of one another's motive; Ib unbuttoned the collar of her blouse, her fingers flitting as she struggled to hold onto each button.

It felt like an eternity before she had undone the first button, and Garry intervened. His fingers brushed against her palms. "Let me."

A few seconds had passed before the line of button came undone one by one. Garry pulled the fabric aside like a curtain, revealing Ib's pale skin and the lacy pink bra she had worn that night. He nearly called the ensemble of matching underwear "cute", but it felt like too much.

Ib bit her lip, trying to hold her breath impatiently as his eyes traced the outline of her bra. Everything had moved so quickly. She wondered if her blush was spreading to her chest.

Garry slid the blouse off her shoulders, and the fabric fell to her wrists, held at her side. A heavy silence filled the room before Garry reached over to Ib's left and began to unbutton the cuffs of her blouse.

He threw the garment to the floor and redirected his attention on her, placing his hands on her hips.

"You sure you want to do this?" He asked.

A small smile stretched across Ib's face, and she leaned forward, brushing aside his bangs to kiss his forehead. "I'm sure."

The words pulled a sigh out of Garry, his head resting against her chest. "You know the top drawer of the nightstand."

Ib pulled away. "What about it?"

"There are condoms in there."

"Oh, right." Ib leaned over to her right, her knee digging further into the mattress as she reached for the drawer. She found what she had expected when she opened it: a pile of wrapped condoms, sprawled around the bottom of the drawer.

She handed one to Garry, and he placed it next to him on the bed. He leaned back on his hands, sighing again. Ib sat on his lap, her fingers entwined in front of her.

"We're really doing this…" Garry murmured, staring into space.

Ib watched him, nearly laughing. "Yeah." She breathed hard still.

In one movement, she took the hem of his shirt in her hands and pulled it up; Garry lifted his arms and assisted her in pulling it over his head. Garry grabbed it first and tossed it onto the floor with Ib's blouse.

Ib heard the clink of his belt buckle, and her world suddenly came to a stop.

_Oh, my god. I'm gonna see his dick._

He unlooped the belt and threw it away. It was just two layers of clothing between Ib and him. He had just begun unbuttoning his jeans before Ib took his face in her hands and brought her lips to his. Garry inhaled sharply, the scent of Ib's perfume flooding his nose.

There was an obvious bulge in his pants.

Ib pulled away from his face, hands still holding his jawline. Garry was still in the process of pulling off his jeans, but he was suddenly so enthusiastic to do so. They had grown increasingly uncomfortable.

And then his jeans joined the pile of clothes on the floor, and he was sitting in front of her with black boxer briefs and a hard-on. The task of getting naked was still an obstacle they had to overcome.

Ib unhooked her bra and pulled, discarding it promptly on the floor. She stood and began to pull her panties down from under her skirt to her ankles. Her thigh highs remained on. Garry's socks had been left in the foyer.

She wondered what her mom would have said if she had caught them in the act.

Ib yanked down the waistband of Garry's briefs. It was a feeling that was once all too familiar to Garry, but in Ib's presence, it was somehow so foreign.

He was impressive. Like, definitely above average.

The process was slowing down, but Ib grabbed the wrapped condom Garry had thrown onto the bed and opened it. It was beginning to become clear to Ib what she was getting herself into. It wouldn't stop her, though. Was he five inches? Six? She couldn't tell.

The condom she pulled out of the wrapper was ribbed. The wrapper joined everything else that had been thrown to the floor.

Garry rolled it on. It was a chore for Ib to just sit and watch, but the sight of him was _incredible_.

She brought her arms around his neck, into an embrace. Garry brought her closer and closer until only sweat separated them. The tension melted away.

With his arms around her waist, he brought her down on top of him. He fell back onto the bed, her hair balled into his fist.

She was so beautiful.

Garry brought his hand up her thigh to the hem of Ib's loose skirt. He hooked the fabric with his thumb and slid his hand under the skirt. He was met with warm, damp skin.

She was nearly trembling, small in his arms and suddenly so fragile. She pulled her face away from his, her eyes glassy and almost lidded. She tugged on his hair, and his head turned, exposing his neck. Ib lowered her face to the skin and kissed him, once, twice.

It wasn't foreign anymore. None of it was. Her lips on his skin, his hand on her ass suddenly felt so normal. He ran a finger along her entrance and felt her tense up on top of him. She grabbed onto his arm with one hand. The kisses she left were softer, gentler than before.

They realized the silence as he slid a finger into her, and Ib seemed to relax into him. It was an entirely new feeling, but she was ready to get used to it.

She could feel a swirling, dizzying feeling in her stomach. She wrapped her leg around his, her toes curling. She felt a pounding in her head.

Garry's grip on her hair was loose, kinder than before. He was petting her head, running his fingers through the length of her hair. The feeling was somehow reassuring, but it felt amazing to her.

The feeling of his finger inside her disappeared. His other hand rested on the back of her head.

"Hey."

Ib could hear the hoarseness in Garry's voice. Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"

They hadn't looked at each other. "You still want to do this?"

Garry's heartbeat hammered in his chest. Ib's voice was brittle, but confident: "_Yes._"

The confidence left when she felt him against her, and a raw feeling of shock shot up her spine. She squirmed, his hips digging into her.

Garry groaned, his hands holding her waist. A sigh escaped from his lips. He grabbed Ib and pushed himself up on his elbows, then his hands.

Ib's fingers remained entangled in Garry's hair, a space between them opening. One hand slid up the length of his chest to his shoulder. All the moving felt almost uncomfortable to Ib, but she slowly eased into him, straddling his lap.

Garry thrusted against her without a warning, and she breathed hard against him. Her back arched in anticipation, her muscles contracting.

Her voice caught in her throat. All she could think was that she was _so _thankful she had grabbed a ribbed condom. The space between them grew until she was writhing on top of Garry, watching his body move against her.

Ib was trying to keep up, despite her slight athleticism; she was petite and already gleaming with sweat, but sweat had hardly broken the surface of Garry's skin.

Eagerly, Ib brought him closer, squeezing him tightly to her. He pushed against her weight again. A shiver racked through Ib's body, and she dug her nails into his back.

Their lips came together again, and they nearly bumped noses when Ib pulled Garry's face to hers. The warmth of his breath still lingered, but he tasted of nicotine and ash. He had always smelled of it, but knowing it was the taste of _him _in _her _mouth made the sense entirely different.

Her body convulsed against him, pulling her away from his face. Her back arched again, exposing her shoulders as her hair fell forward. Garry's breath was hot and heavy against her skin.

Ib's breathing had steadied to a slow rhythm, her back against the mattress. The soft glow of Garry's bedside lamp set a warm mood.

The sweat on her skin had pooled mostly into the mattress and dried on her skin, leaving her hair tangled and messy. The color in her face remained, tinting her body in various shades. Her bangs stood up and drooped in the oddest places.

The cold of a damp towel made her shiver, but Garry's hand on her stomach was calming enough. She laid there on the comforter, fading in and out of sleep while Garry cleaned what little was on her legs.

"What a date," Ib breathed, smiling weakly. Garry only chuckled.

He stood and closed the towel, folding it over. He tossed it aside like they had done everything else.

"Done?" Ib asked, still recovering.

"Yep." Garry took her hands and pulled her up into a sitting position. "Sleepy?"

"Yeah," she giggled. She fell back onto the bed again.

Garry flicked his wrist, pointing to the other side of the bed. "Roll over to the other side."

"Why can't you sleep on the other side?" Ib whined.

"I'm going to smoke and everything is on the night table."

Ib sat up idly and crawled her naked self across the bed, groaning all the while. Ib wagged her butt teasingly in his face as she moved on her knees.

Smirking, Garry leaned over the edge of the bed and smacked her bum. She yelped and fell onto her pillow, giggling wildly.

"That hurt!" She cried, rolling over on her side to turn away from him.

"_Sorry,_" he sighed, hopping into bed.

"It's okay." She rolled back, watching him as he slid under the sheets.

Garry reached over to the table to his left and grabbed his ashtray first, then his cigarettes. He pulled one from the carton and closed it, setting the carton on the nightstand.

"Why do you smoke?" Ib had propped herself up on her elbows while Garry wasn't looking.

"I don't know." He lit the cigarette. "I've tried to stop a few times before."

Ib rested a hand on Garry's leg, covered by the comforter. She dropped her head onto the pillow. "Why didn't you?"

Garry released a breath of smoke. "I just couldn't do it." He grabbed the ashtray and put it in his lap, flicking ash off of the burning end of his cigarette. He intertwined his fingers with Ib's.

"You gave up?" She looked up at him from the pillow, and Garry looked down at her. He took the cigarette from his mouth and smothered it.

"Yeah, I did."

Ib flashed him a toothy smile as he set the ashtray to the side. He wormed his way further under the blanket, scooping up Ib in his arms. Ib squealed, wrapping his arms around his neck in return.

Smoke still lingered on his breath. Ib kissed him gently.

* * *

_A/N: Biggest thanks to my friend Newt (wrinklynewt on tumblr) for talking to me about penises on Skype and all the people on Google Docs who held my hand through this._

_This was SO hard to write. I haven't written smut in many, many months._

_Also, a big thanks to you guys on AO3 who have left the sweetest comments and the wonderful artists on Tumblr who have drawn art for the fic. It's so fucking amazing._

_See you all next chapter!_


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